


A Good Man

by Nifflers_and_Crookshanks



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Agent Carter timeline, BAMF Peggy Carter, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Howling Commandos - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, James "Bucky" Barnes (mentioned) - Freeform, Loss, Reunion, Second Chance, Steggy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-05-18 22:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nifflers_and_Crookshanks/pseuds/Nifflers_and_Crookshanks
Summary: When Steve is found in 1946 he and Peggy have another chance at love. They are both determined not to waste it, but it's a long road to happiness as they both begin to learn who the other is outside of the war and what they really mean to each other.





	1. Alive and Breathing

It felt surreal. Everything felt surreal to Peggy, like she was walking in some sort of haze, a wonderful dream if she was prepared to be cliche about it all. One moment she was at the dinner table, trying to listen to Angie catch her up on her latest audition over the sound of her chewing her mashed potatoes and the next the phone was ringing and Angie was telling her that there was a man - who did not wish to be identified - on the line for her. Howard Stark’s distinct accent betrayed him the moment Peggy picked up the receiver.

“Peg, it’s me,”

“Yes, I gathered that,”

“Peg, I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay?” The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and only years of training and experience stopped Peggy from panicking, Howard must be assuming the line was bugged. “Jarvis will meet you outside with a car in,” He paused to check his watch, “Fifteen minutes. Be ready. He will take you to…” Another pause, “Look, Peggy, I’ll see you there, just trust me with this, alright?” More than a little part of her was glad that Howard seemed to realise how big an ask it was, this bizarre request.

“I hope this has nothing to do with any of your antics,” She said, eyes unconsciously flicking to a shadow on the wall that indicating the presence of an nosey friend.

“You’re going to have to trust me in this one,” Was his reply.

Jarvis was as little informed as she was as to why they were going to Camp Leigh, but he did know where they were going, which was a start. When they entered the base her confusion heightened, in the middle of the night there was a great flurry of activity and Colonel Phillips himself was there in the midst of it all. The directer of the Strategic Scientific Reserve would not be roused from bed for any small matter, it had to be something above her now dismally low clearance level. He caught her eye across the room, and Peggy marched up to him, very much prepared to fight tooth and nail for every scrap of information. It was not necessary.

“Agent Carter, follow me,” He ordered, as soon as she reached him, and she did not argue. They went through a number of corridors that Peggy recognised led to the labs she, Howard and Doctor Erskine had frequented during Project Rebirth.

“Is there an issue with the technology, Sir?” She eventually asked, frowning as what she realised was a medic brushed passed her. The last thing Peggy wanted was to have a reoccurrence of the disaster with Howard’s ‘bad babies’.

“No, nothing of the sort.” Phillips said in answer, “At least Stark had the sense not to brief you over the phone,” His distaste for the man was obvious in his tone, and she wondered what could be the root of his ire this time. “He had been conducting some covert operations in the Arctic, without our knowledge, when he radioed in notifying us that they had picked up wreckage on the radar,” Peggy stopped in her tracks, immobile in the centre of the hysteria.

“Did they-”

“I was furious, of course. I ordered him to wait until we had joined him, which he ignored,”

“Steve-” Peggy began, before correcting herself, “Captain Rogers, they’ve found him?” The look in Phillip’s eyes scared her like nothing did before, pity. His face softened when he looked at her, and she felt tears sting her eyes.

“Peg!” Howard called from down the corridor, arms flailing above his head in a bid to gain her attention.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at, Howard?!” She demanded, but even that did nothing to affect Stark’s mood. He was relentlessly and overwhelmingly elated.

“He’s alive, Peg!” He choked out, pulling her into a tight hug she was too shocked to fight off.

“Steve’s alive?” Peggy blinked rapidly and tried to regain control of her breathing as she pulled away. “How?”

“I thought he’d be frozen solid, the front of the thing was submerged and he was locked in ice,” Howard said, shaking his head in disbelief. “We were trying to be careful, get him out without destroying the remains and one of the boys went too strong with one of the pickaxes. The crack in the ice should have gone right through him, but it just broke around him! When we got closer, he looked like he was sleeping and I didn’t think much of it, thought he was well preserved, but he was warm when we touched him, Peg. Not too warm, still damn cold really, but warmer, so I checked his pulse and…” There were tears in his eyes, mirroring her.

“Where is he?”

“In Lab 2A-”

“The freezer?” It’s nickname arose from it’s permanently chilled temperature, used mostly to store chemicals and other materials volatile at room temperature.

“It was the only place I could think of that was suitable, aside from my own facilities, of course,” Peggy ignored the glance Howard sent in the Colonel’s way, she couldn’t have cared less about Stark’s petty feud, not when she was separated from a living, breathing Steve Rogers by little more than a door. “The docs don’t want us warming him too fast, they don’t want him going into shock so they’re upping the temperature a degree or two every hour,”

“And he’s stable?” Her voice quivered a little despite herself. Steve was legally dead, KIA and lost to a watery grave at the bottom of the arctic ocean and here she was, asking if he was in a stable condition. It hardly seemed real, and a not insignificant part of her feared it was all some sick joke or perverse nightmare, that it would all come shattering down at a moments notice.

“For now,” Howard assured her, positively beaming. “Peg, I can’t believe how well that serum worked,” He said with a grin, but she knew he was just distracting. Bringing Steve home, and better, bringing him home _alive_ , it was more than either of them had ever hoped for.

Peggy, upon reaching the lab, paid little attention to the protestations of the medics on hand. Any temperature, no matter how brisk, was going to stop her from seeing him with her own eyes. Nothing prepared her for the sight she saw when she stormed through the doors, taking the doctor’s arguments in stride as Howard and Colonel Phillips looked on.

There was Steve, his not so lifeless body laid out on a hastily made hospital bed, unchanged and yet somehow ethereal. Peggy thought she could see two of him at once, the heroic and strong Captain America mixed in with the pre-serum boy from Brooklyn, sickly but never weak, both lying there in the same body that was comically large for the bed. Perhaps it was just the juxtaposition between the muscled physical form and the frail state he so evidently was in, paler than death and chest barely moving with each breath, but it knocked the breath out of her all the same.

“Hello, my darling,” She barely murmured, and tentatively reached out to brush his hand with the tips of her fingers. He was cold to the touch, but her hand did not stray from his. She refused to be parted from him now, not after so much.

Days came and went, each one a struggle as the doctors flitted in and out, monitoring his vitals and muttering under their breaths. There was no guarantee that the sentinel of liberty would ever wake up, but there was also no discernible reasons as to why he would not. If the cold prison of arctic ice did not kill him then they were not sure what could. Cell regeneration had been slowed by the extreme temperatures, even if that was what ultimately saved and preserved him, but once Steve’s body reached room temperature it was there was little else to do but wait. Peggy stayed by his side for a time, before taking an active role in what soon became known as Project Fourth (“For the fourth of July,” Howard had winked, earning an eye roll) which was for all intents and purposes an attempt to conceal the remnants of Project Rebirth. Howard had been right in assuming that the line was not secure the night he contacted her, with both intelligence agencies at home and abroad picking up that there was _something_ happening high up in the SSR, and that worked to their disadvantage. With a next to defenceless super soldier on their hands, the SSR needed to protect Steve from more than just the press.

Peggy was in Colonel Phillips’ office, listening to him to tell Chief Thompson in no uncertain terms that as directer of the SSR he had say over where any of his field agents were assigned and more than a little smug, when the doctor interrupted.

“The external warming procedures going well, Doctor?” Phillips asked, unceremoniously putting Thompson on hold. “Is there a particular reason why you are interrupting me?”

“He’s waking up,” Was all it took for Peggy to take off down the hall, limited to a fast walk by her need for composure if nothing else.

* * *

The first thing Peggy realised when Steve opened his eyes was that she had completely forgotten what they looked like. She knew they were blue, but she had failed to remember just how blue they were and made a note to commit the exact shade to memory. The second was that she needed more practice in refraining from crying. Unwanted tears welled in her eyes the second they met his, a pain low in her gut reminding her exactly how it felt to say goodbye with the knowledge that she would never see him again.

“Peggy,” Steve said, looking decidedly more shocked than she did, and memories resurfaced of his last panicked utterance of her name over the radio.

“You’re late,” Peggy said in reply. Her cold tone was undermined by the hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Am I dead?” She could have laughed.

“No, you are very much alive,” In her heart, she added a ‘my darling’, “How are you feeling?”

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but before he could say anything he was quickly interrupted.

“Captain, if you could tell us the last thing you remember, please?” The doctor with the glasses said after appearing at Peggy’s side as if from thin air, startling them both.

“I was in the Valkyrie…” Steve replied, eyebrows knitting together, “I was talking on the radio with Agent Carter and then I ,” His eyes flickered to Peggy, “I put the plane in the water.”

“Do you remember hitting your head at any point?”

“I don’t think so…”

“The treatment he has undergone with the serum means that chemical reactions within the body and cell replication occur at greatly increased rates. That combined with the synthesised proteins, it’s not improbable that heavy trauma to the head, if it even occurred, would have had little effect and any damage would have already healed,”

“Still, we need to be sure that he isn’t suffering from a concussion,” The doctor smiled, “How are you feeling?” Peggy just stared as Steve sat there, looking just as stunned and confused as before.

“I’ve felt better,” He said, and she noticed how his voice wavered and cracked. She was overcome with the urge to hold his hand and never let go, but it soon passed.

“Sense of dizziness, confusion, fatigue?”

“Yeah, um, all of those,” Peggy suppressed a chuckle as Steve blinked repeatedly.

“I think it best if we run some test,” The doctor said, and at his side three medics appeared, ready to assist. After a pause, he clarified that “We will be needing some privacy,” and looked expectantly at Peggy.

“For what exactly?” She asked, certain that treatment for exposure to extreme cold would not be requiring any obscene procedures that might offend her sensibilities.

“Nothing invasive,” One of the assistant doctors hurried to assure her, “just some bloods-”

“Absolutely not,” Was her curt reply.

“Miss-”

“Agent,” Peggy corrected him firmly, asserting herself with a determined look. “And you will find Colonel Phillips is in complete agreement with me, no samples of any kind are to be taken from the patient. Blood removed from the Captain immediately becomes the property of the United States government and by military policy you are consequently forbidden to test on it,” 

“Agent, it is also military policy that no one except next of kin may visit a patient in a military ward,” The first doctor retorted, “Any kind of ward,”

She smiled. They wanted to get rid of her.

“I am one of the last remaining participants of Project Rebirth and one of the few that can give you any insight on the Captain’s unique physiology, Doctor,” She said, silently wondering if there was an opportunity for one of Thompson’s crass jokes in her reprimand.

“Mr Stark is overseeing us,” He replied, and she expected he thought that made him sound official and smart.

“Howard Stark was involved in the engineering and mechanical aspects of Project Rebirth and did not work in concert with Doctor Erskine in understanding the affects of the serum on human cell mutation as I did,” Peggy was no biologist, she had started her armed forces career as a code breaker at Bletchley Park due to her superb background in mathematics, but she knew that no one had worked as closely with Erskine as she had in the last few months leading up to Steve’s transformation. She also knew that the moment she walked out the door she would not be allowed back in.

“How long ago were you briefed on his particular circumstances, Doctor? A few days ago? You will need someone familiar with the case to supervise you for the foreseeable future and as there is no one else more qualified that someone is me,” Peggy concluded, very aware that they still thought of her as some pushy broad and failing to care.

The doctors obediently went about their work after that, holding up different objects and charts trying to monitor Steve’s vision and cognitive functions as Peggy sat quietly to the side. Steve seemed to take it all very well, calm and next to silent as they tried out one method after the other until there were no other tests to do. When they were absolutely satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary (bearing in mind that they were testing on a newly defrosted Captain America, the genetically modified super hero declared dead next to a year ago) they left.

“What day is it?” Steve asked, ending the long pause that had followed the doctor’s departure.

“It is the second of August 1946,” She said, unsure of what else to say. “You are in the laboratory facilities of Camp Leigh and it is 10 0’clock in the morning,”

“The war?”

“Hitler killed himself a few months after the Valkyrie, Germany surrendered soon after. The war in the pacific kept on for a few more months and Japan surrendered last August after we dropped two atomic bombs on them.” Peggy explained, “Howard worked on them, one of his more terrifying inventions,” She quickly added.

“The war’s over,”

“Yes, we won,” _We can go home_. Peggy let out a shuddering breath so as to avoid an even greater display of emotion. “It’s all over now, Steve,” He smiled at that, the faint smile of someone completely worn out.

“Peggy I…” He seemed at a lost for words, something that she had even come to miss in the year that followed his disappearance. It betrayed just exactly how endearing he really was, and Peggy resisted the steady tide of grief that was rising up inside at the mere memory of mourning him. “I guess I missed our date, then,” He finally said, a sheepish smile on his face as he ducked his head.

“Only by a year and then some,” She smiled back.

“I think that might be a record,” Steve joked, but a small voice in the back of Peggy’s mind whispered quietly in reply.

_Better late than never_.


	2. Thank you, Howard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and mostly filler but with our favourite inventor/ philander in the mix.

“I mourned you,” Peggy whispered, softly carding her hand through his hair. A sleeping Steve remained unresponsive, but it seemed her touch soothed him, so she continued. “I laid flowers on your grave,” Memorial, really. There had been no body to bury, but even with an empty coffin no one could agree on where to inter the spectre of Captain America. The Howlies and Colonel Phillips had insisted on a burial next to his mother, what Steve would have wanted, but were forced to concede to a memorial plaque instead and saw an ostentatious monument built in Washington dedicated to the famed hero. Peggy absolutely refused to attend the ceremony, but could not escape a film of the crowds it had drawn; it played the first time she went to the pictures with Colleen after her move to New York. The next day she found the cemetery, and tried to find some closure. “I said goodbye to you, my darling,” On the Brooklyn Bridge, watching the last piece of him fall into the river, tears stinging her cheeks. “And now you’re here,” The unconscious super soldier made no acknowledgement of her sentimentality, which she was partly grateful for.

Ever since Steve woke up Peggy couldn’t bear to take his eyes off him, even for a moment. Perhaps she should have considered how strange the nature of what she was doing was, stroking his hair as he slept when they had never held hands before (when both were conscious, that is). They had shared a single kiss but already this delicate … this delicate whatever it was between them was so much than anything she had ever experienced before. It was not that she had never loved before, she had, but the feelings she felt for Steve when there was only light flirtation between them had rivalled the emotion her fiancé evoked in her when she had said ‘yes’ with all the confidence in the world. She paused for a moment, considering how he would react to her informality, but as he was asleep and it felt so natural she supposed he would not make much protest.

It was another hour until Steve woke up, which Peggy spent as she often did going through SSR files as her leave from work did not excuse her from the more tedious aspects of life as an agent. When he did Howard was happily shown in to visit, and the three had a brief discussion on what was happening in the world before Steve asked about his personal belongings.

“I didn’t have a lot of stuff I don’t think, it was probably thrown out,” He said, “I guess I cant blame yah for it,” Peggy thought his smile travelled to his eyes decorated by dark circles this time, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Personal effects are usually distributed to the family,” She replied, “In your case I think they may have been put into storage,” Such a casual response given she knew exactly where the contents of his foot locker was kept, in a musty old room swamped with various boxes in one of the dank holes that SSR HQ considered their storage facilities. “I can check now, if you’d like,”

And so off she went to locate Steve’s assortment of possessions,

“Y’know you’ve got me to thank for all this,” Howard said as the door closed, the sound of Peggy’s heels fading down the hall. “Without me you’d still be frozen solid keeping the polar bears company,”

“So I’ve heard,” Steve answered weakly, “I guess I mean more to you than I realised,” That was a gross understatement at best.

“Yeah well, call it my one do-gooder moment to repent for all my sins,” Stark joked, before becoming serious. “We all missed you pal, really missed you,”

“Oh yeah? Well, what took you so long, then?” Steve grinned, attempting to liven up the mood. His aspirations were short lived.

“They lost hope, heck we all did,” Howard replied quietly. “Months of searching without so much as a bit of wreckage? I’m surprised they let me keep it up as long as they did, had to go covert after that, use up all my own resources,”

“The SSR stopped searching?” He frowned then. “Who gave the order?”

“Phillips, but it killed him to do it,” Howard clarified. “The big wigs kept telling him after each mission report that if there was nothing in the next one they’d kill it. I still remember his face when I showed up with another blank statement, he’s a big softie at heart, y’know? He looked like he wa gonna cry,” That was an uncomfortable image, someone as stern and grave a person as the colonel on the verge of tears. Steve could barely picture it.

“I kept going, though, got me in a lot of trouble a few times,” Stark continued, “The treason charges complicated things, of course,” He said it like it was nothing, which caused Steve to rethink his abrupt response, before assuring himself that, yes, in this world where down is now up treason was still a very serious crime.

“Treason?” Howard look exasperated by the question than anything else, tired of people mentioning what he considered to be old news.

“Did Peg not catch you up on anything?” He asked.

“I know the war’s over,” Steve said, indignant. “We won,”

“I guess she would have wanted to skip the difficult parts,” Howard sighed. “If she didn’t tell you about the treason she wouldn’t have told you about the vial of blood either,” He sounded like he was talking to himself more than Steve.

“Who’s blood?”

“Your blood,” The inventor took the tone of someone addressing a child, unwilling to explain exactly why the sky is blue and the sea is blue but the grass is green.

“My blood? Why did she have a vial of my blood?”

“I gave it to her, can’t you keep up?” 

  
“That seems like a strange gift,” Steve observed. 

  
“Eh, she wasn’t too happy when I gave her it,” Howard allowed, “I wanted to test on it, y’see? The government wasted all the samples they had trying to replicate the serum but I didn’t want that. I figured if the serum had made you immune to disease and infection then the key to it’s healing properties would be in your DNA,” It was not a ridiculous idea. “You were the only bit of good I did, y’know, I wanted to use that as much as I could, make drugs and medicine that could cure people,”

“Peggy didn’t like that idea?”

“She didn’t like that I might make some money off of it. Thought it would taint your memory, said you were a good man and you shouldn’t be used to line my pockets or something to that effect,” Howard feigned ambivalence, but even Steve in his exhausted state saw right through his charade. He had been wounded, deeply. “When she found out I was still searching she went ballistic,”

“What?”

  
“Absolutely through the roof. I’ve seen a lot of angry women but the best could give her a run for her money, I’m just glad she didn’t have her gun on her.”

“Peggy wanted you to stop searching?” Steve knew it was unfair of him to feel hurt, after a whole year it seemed a rational conclusion that he would never be found and he couldn’t fault Peggy for that, but he still felt it.

“It was hard for her,” Howard said “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, Steve, it was really rough, and I think a part of her knew if she got her hopes up on getting you back and we turned up nothing she’d… She wouldn’t recover from it, y’know?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Steve said lamely. It was still difficult to fully comprehend that the Battle of the Valkyrie was not just a day or two ago, that it had been over a year since then and the world had gone on without him. The war was over, the Allies victorious and the country had mourned and then promptly forgotten their star spangled man. His friends, the Howlies, Peggy, they had grieved for him and moved on with their lives, lives he was only distantly familiar with and had no involvement in.

“I wouldn’t presume to know her feelings, pal, but I think you can be pretty certain that dame is sweet on you,” Howard told him, distracting him from his melancholy.

“I feel like I’m lucky to be given the time of day after all this,” Steve confessed, feeling more physically and mentally drained than he had in years, before he ever witnessed Howard’s levitating car, heard of a Doctor Erskine or saw Peggy Carter punch out Hodge. The weight of Bucky’s loss was still laid squarely on his shoulders, and to think that Peggy might have endured a glimmer of that - no, she would have felt more than a glimmer. He had no idea how to talk to women, but Steve Rogers wasn’t stupid and knew that if the kiss they had shared before the Valkyrie was any indication then her feelings mirrored his own. That should have made him feel better, but it made him feel worse knowing what pain he had caused her.

“She was sat at your side for days before Colonel Phillips convinced her to make herself useful,” Howard argued back, “I talked to her right after the first time you came to and I haven’t ever seen her smile like that before. No matter how she felt when you were gone, nothing is gonna compare to what this is like now,”

“You really think so?”

“You’ve been brought back from the dead, pal, that’s pretty hard to compete with. Wrap that up with the rest of the star spangled, righteous hero with a zeal for freedom package and…” Howard trailed off, realising that Steve, and particularly his concerned eyebrows, didn’t need to know or have any indication of the various opportunities Peggy had in his absence. “What’s in your foot locker anyway?” Steve would have pressed further, insisted that Howard finish his thought and maybe even explain, but he could feel the last bits of resilience fading in him. He’d need to sleep soon and that conversation seemed reserved for another day.

“Uh, nothing important, really. Notebooks with some doodles, nothing spectacular. Just wondered what they would have done with them,” He didn’t have much to begin with and the majority of belongings he owned he was forced to sell as he didn’t have anywhere to keep them when he enlisted. Just some sentimental things really, his father’s old wristwatch, a few battered copies of books he had permanently borrowed, the only photograph of him and his mother ever taken pressed between the pages, Bucky’s dog tags… And of course, his sketchbooks.

“Sure is taking Carter a long time to retrieve nothing,” Howard said, and as though summoned Peggy pushed the door open and paused, taking in the change in the tone of the room.

“What have you been saying, Howard?”“Nothing too obscene,” He assured her, jumping up to help her with the boxes she was carrying, “His virgin ears were well shielded I promise you,”

“Now I’m concerned,” Peggy frowned, only half joking, “What on earth did you two talk about?”

“Nothing like what he’s making it out to be,” Steve safely replied, gratefully accepting the cardboard box presented to him.

“Well, here’s an inventory list of all the items that were filed as personal belongings under S. Rogers,” She offered, handing him a worn piece of paper with type detailing descriptions of each individual item. “You should probably cross reference it with the items in the boxes, to check that they’re all there, sometime anyway,”

“Yeah, that’s sounds like a good idea,” He agreed, but made no move to do so.

“I might leave you two to it, then, if I’m no longer needed-” Steve was not even shocked by how quickly the urgent ‘no!’ passed his lips. Peggy paused, offering a weak smile. “If you insist, then,”

“That is, only if you aren’t needed anywhere else,”

“I’m sure I can make my excuses later,”

“Well, if that’s how this is going to be I should get going and actually do my job,” Howard said, his pointed stare somewhere between sarcastic and teasing.

“I am doing my job,”

“Save the speech for the docs, Peg, I for one like seeing you two together,” He winked, stealing behind the door before Peggy could react violently. She responded quite differently from what was expected, a simple “Thank you, Howard,” passing her lips as she and Steve said the same in unison.


	3. Good To Be Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of development, and a little bit of the howlies.

“Was there something in particular that you were looking for?” Peggy asked, interrupting Steve’s thoughts. He had been flicking his gaze between the cardboard box sat in his lap and her face, and was unsuccessful, he imagined, in being subtle about it. 

“Uh, no, nothing special,” He answered, only slightly flushed. The vivid red of her lips was the only colour in a sterilised room full of bright white lights and grey walls, and the gentleman in him insisted that was why he was so fixated with them. It wasn’t a very convincing argument.

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, Steve occasionally stealing glances at Peggy, who in turn watched him as he, unaware of her gaze, rifled through his things. When he found a copy of one of his battered books, however, he paused. His memory had always been good, especially in regards to spatial memory and visualising images even if his colour perception was substandard, but after the serum the tests Erskine’s subordinates had run concluded that he had a photographic memory. Which meant that he realised immediately that the tattered old photograph of him and his mother was not on the page that he left it. The frayed edges he saw peeking out from the pages were far closer to the front cover than before, and a dislodged section of the book jutted out in an unfamiliar way. 

“Did someone go through this?” Steve frowned, fingertips protectively running across the edges of the photograph. Peggy paused. 

“I did,” She said at last, reluctant to admit it. “I was ordered to catalogue everything,” He immediately regretted the tone he had used.

 “Oh, okay,” He nodded, ducking his head even more into the box in an effort to hide. That was, of course, until curiosity got the better of him. “Everything?”

“I was asked to catalogue everything so, yes, everything,” She asserted. Peggy did not enjoy this line of questioning. Going through and methodically taking stock of someone’s personal belongings could easily be construed as an invasion of privacy, especially seeing as that someone was no longer considered deceased. Steve only nodded again and continued searching through the box until he found his sketchbooks. He wasn’t being entirely truthful when he said that there was nothing specific he was looking for, but it felt strange so say that he needed to check that his mediocre drawings were still there.

“Did you go through these too?” He said, seeing the slight smudge of a fingerprint to the side of one of the pages. It was a quick landscape sketch of a tree line he had done during some down timebetween missions. He felt suddenly embarrassed at the prospect of Agent Carter, Peggy, of all people seeing his drawings… Then he flushed a brilliant red. “How much have you seen?”

“I went through all the notebooks,” She clarified weakly. “You’re very talented, Steve, it seemed a waste to condemn them all to some dusty box,” Peggy remembered going through them, her fingers gliding across the pages in an attempt to savour the last remnants of Steve, trying to salvage some part of him that had been imbued in them. She also remembered crying shamelessly and for hours over them, trying to soothe the ache in her heart.

Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about that. When he had drawn something he was particularly proud of he sometimes considered showing someone it, Bucky or Peggy maybe, but he had imagined himself there, pointing out an error or two and being able to flip passed the numerous sketches of her he had drawn. He blanched further at the thought. Peggy would have seen every single one of them.

“So you saw the, uh…” They were all drawn with varying degrees of devotion. Some where painstakingly meticulous in detail, something he had spent hours on out in the field, redrawing every minor flaw until it looked an exact mirror of her likeness. Others had been idle work, an image his mind conjured out of nowhere the second he laid pen to paper and which he had drawn almost on reflex, so familiar with the lines and contours of her face.

“Yes,” Peggy’s heart had stopped one rainy morning in London when she turned the page to see her own face staring back at her. Frantically she flicked passed it, forcing back the overwhelming sense of love that had risen, only to see more. Steve, the man she had lost to the cruel ice and Schmidt’s cursed schemes, had filled page upon page with her. Some were completed sketches, others works in progress, a few were barely recognisable as merely traces of pencil marks, at differing angles, poses, expressions, but they were all invariably her. And they had all been drawn with such love, such care it made her heart break. Art had never communicated anything to her, the ever practical Peggy Carter, before, but these small sketches spoke to her very soul in ways she could not even begin to describe. “I think they’re a bit too flattering,” She joked, but emotion clawed at her throat and scratched her voice, subtly distorting the words. 

“They’re as accurate as I could get,” Steve replied, unsure of what else to say. He steeled himself to meet her gaze, though, which made up for his uncertainty. The grief in her voice had not been missed by him. 

“They’re all very lifelike, especially those of Dugan and Jim,” She did not mention the sketches of Bucky that were once as numerous as hers, until they had abruptly stopped. “If I didn’t know any better I’d think there was something there,” Peggy teased, before realising the implications of her words. “Not that I’m suggesting there’s anything between us, I mean anything more than…” Than what? What was previously established? She’d kissed for Christ’s sake! They’re last moments together had been a repetition of their flirting, laced with a meaning that ran far deeper than either of them could truly comprehend. Of course, the imminent threat of death does seem to make things more urgent than they are, Peggy was willing to allow for that.

“You know how I feel about you, Peggy,” Steve said softly, interrupting her train of thought. She met his gaze once more, his earnest eyes staring back at her, and knew that the unspoken acceptance they had before was still there, the silent acknowledgement of their mutual feelings for one another. Of course it was. For him, the crash had occurred days prior, but for her eons had gone by since she lost him and it seemed that for all her will power she had failed in her attempts to move on. Peggy found her breath suddenly felt laboured, as though her chest was constricting her lungs, and knew that tears were imminent.

“I was never any good at such things,” She confessed as a distraction, gesturing to the sketchbook that laid abandoned in Steve’s lap. “Art,” The extent of Peggy’s instruction in the arts ended with her piano lessons, a dreary ongoing nuisance from early childhood that continued well into her teenage years. The only aspect of it she enjoyed was that her repetitive and vigorous playing of the third movement of Mozart’s Sonata No.11 drove her mother absolutely insane.

“I’m not really, either, most of these are,” Steve made a dissatisfied face that relayed what his words could not at that stage. Peggy was taken aback by his modesty. Yes, many of the pages were filled up absent minded doodles, half finished sketches and scribbles, but so many more images of his life during the war - some in haunting detail.

“The show monkey ones are my favourite, I’m afraid,” She said, smiling an affectionate smile at the memory of a backstage meeting at a star spangled show somewhere in Italy. “Though, I was not sorry to see them go,” There were running motifs, even in the careless doodles, of rubble, of shields, stars and stripes, skulls, tentacles and a familiar monkey on a unicycle. She could almost follow the progress of the years through them, when one phase of his life ended and the other began.

“Yeah, neither was I,” He smiled in answer. It seemed his preoccupation with circus animals ended the moment he stopped being one. “That was all you, by the way,”

“What?” Peggy frowned.

“Me realising I could be more than the options I was given,” Steve explained. “I always did exactly what everyone thought I couldn’t when I was small, guess I just forgot how to make my own way after the procedure. ‘Till you found me again, anyway,”

“I’m sure you would have forged your own path regardless,” She said.

“No,” His voice was even and his eyes earnest. “I couldn’t have, not without you,” He said it with such conviction Peggy let herself believe it, just for a little while, just for his sake.

Jarvis had once said to Peggy that from what Howard said about Captain America, he believed Steve drew a lot of his strength from her. She had dismissed the very notion. Steve was always Steve well before she met him, the little guy from Brooklyn either too principled or too dumb to run away from a fight. She rather suspected she fell in love with him the moment he threw himself on top of of that grenade, ever the courageous one so selflessly determined to protect others at the cost of his own life. It was why she had lost him and why she loved him still, because he was a good man - always a good man if not a good soldier. Then there he was, resurrected and recuperating in a hospital bed right in front of her, convinced that she was the source of his confidence, his will to make the world a better place ignoring the personal cost. She could have laughed if it didn’t seem so unbelievable. That, along with the word surreal, was the defining mood of the last week.

“Well, the feeling is mutual, then,” Peggy said at last. “I don’t know how I would have managed all the chaos you left behind without thinking ‘what would Steve do?’,” The mere memory of him had driven her to better herself, forced her to keep fighting for the righteous causes and the justices promised to them all. He was a good man, which was what made him a great one, and she would be satisfied to have a heart a fraction as good as his.

“I’m sure you don’t-” Steve ducked his head, shrugging, “I’m-” The second time he was interrupted it wasn’t because of own his self-consciousness, rather the sound of the lab doors being slammed open. 

“In a whole load o’ shit!” Dugan announced, standing proudly in the doorway as passing interns stepped aside looking only a little shellshocked.

“You aren’t allowed to be in here,”

“Only with you’re permission, Peggy,” 

“Dum Dum,” Steve smiled weakly at the new arrival. He made effort to sit up as his friend approached, while Peggy fought the urge to help him and contented herself with taking the cardboard box out of his hands.

“I suppose the Colonel is fully aware of this?”

“Who d’ya think let me know about this idiot?” Dugan retorted. Phillips had briefly suggested that some of the 107th should be informed of Steve’s reappearance, and Peggy had agreed just as swiftly as she’d forgotten about the idea all together. With a living, breathing, talking Steve before her very eyes it was easy to let things slip to the back of her mind.

“Do you all know?” Steve visibly brightened at the idea of more reunions. 

“They know to come here, I thought I’d surprise ‘em,” Dugan winked.

“Do you want to give them the shocks of their lives?”

“Aw Jeez, Peg, he doesn’t look that bad,”

“You know what I mean,” Peggy said, what was hopefully a stern expression on her face. Dugan, however, completely ignored it.

“You gave us all a scare for a moment there, Cap,”

“More than a moment,” Steve corrected with a laugh, “Peggy says it’s been more than a year,” He believed her, of course, though numerous newspapers and the radio he had convinced them to give him also helped him adjust to the idea. 

“August sixth, ’46,” Dugan confirmed, his moustache twitching as he smiled. “Never thought we’d see you again,” 

“Yeah, I didn’t think I’d have to see your ugly face again either,” Steve grinned, earning himself a laugh and not a punch to the arm.

“Some grateful kid you are! Did you know who led us into the last of the Hydra bases while you were having your nice nap up at the north pole?”

“Peggy did mention you vaguely now I think about it,” Steve feigned ignorance.

“Ah, well, she led the team just as much as I did,” Dugan allowed, interrupting Peggy as she began to object. “I wouldn’t do anything to set her off anymore, her aim’s improved since the shield incident,”

“Oh you all bloody know about that now, do you?” She said, somewhere between outraged and amused. 

“Not my fault no one can keep there mouth shut!” He replied. Bucky had been the one to let the whole team know, after Steve had privately confided in him the problems in his prospective love life. Despite the initial embarrassment, the entire team had bonded over making fun of their superior, verifying that the famous Captain America was not without flaw.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve smiled, the sentimentality somewhat behind the progression of the conversation. He tentatively reached out for Peggy’s hand, holding it with a gentleness that did not even begin to surprise her. Steve’s hand was warm and firm in hers, reassuring her that he was there and so was she and somehow everything would be alright. Also, she relished somewhat in how uncomfortable Dugan appeared to be. The blessed moment did not last long.

“What the bloody hell!” Falsworth cried, just as Gabe and Morita appeared in the doorway, the pair of them looking just about ready to pass out. Dernier rounded the corner, and when he saw Steve his face contorted into a similarly affronted expression.

“Hey guys,” Steve greeted them, just as Dugan said “Now fellas, don’t be so disappointed,”

The Howling Commandos proceeded to devolve into a manic gaggle of giddy boys, overexcited and all speaking at once. Peggy, Steve and Dugan took turns relaying the story of Howard’s rescue operations, each adding their own opinions and flare as the grown men openly stared at their beloved Captain, stunned.

Afterwards, Dernier was the first to speak.

“I wonder if this is what the disciples felt like when Jesus rose again,” He murmured quietly in accented English. Steve was highly uncomfortable with the comparison and looked decidedly taken aback, while Gabe couldn’t hold back his laughter.

“I would have sworn you were a ghost,” He said, shaking his head in amusement.

“He’s pale enough for it,” Dugan cackled, “The Irish skin probably felt right at home in the ice,” The usual obligatory jokes about Steve’s translucent skin followed, and he was surprisingly relieved by the familiarity of the whole thing. It felt as though nothing had changed, and Steve sincerely hoped it would remain like that forever. 

“It’s not been the same without you, Captain,” Falsworth assured him when the teasing was done, leaning in as though it was a secret.

“Yeah, Dum Dum’s been a real pain in the ass,” Morita agreed, dodging a swipe from his commanding officer and kick staring another round of banter.

Steve made a valiant effort to keep his eyes open, but a sustained conversation with only half of the Howling Commandos was enough to tire anyone out, let alone an entire room full of them. It wasn’t long before his strength began to flag, and it was Morita who noticed it first. It was him and Dernier that hustled everyone out of the room, but the exile failed to dampen their spirits and the Howling Commandos remained boisterous even when confined to the hallway, aggravating the nerves of the doctors.

“Well, I gotta be honest,” Dugan announced as he made his farewell, all his gruffness forgotten as he clasped Steve’s soldier. “It’s good to have you back, Cap,” That was something Steve could whole heartedly agree with. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up next week, and will hopefully be a bit more interesting!


	4. A Long Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets new living arrangements, Peggy returns to the SSR and a headline spells disaster.

The wisdom of Steve being released into the nurturing hands of “Dum Dum” Dugan was debatable to begin with. The idea had been floated at one or two meetings before it was seriously considered, but no one was willing to admit it was them who initially suggested it. It was confirmed on the condition that the pair would be staying in one of Howard Stark’s private residences, ensuring the accessibility of resources if not any important moral or hygiene standards.

“I suppose it goes without saying that you want uninhibited access to us,” Dugan had said with a grumble upon hearing the news, eyeing Howard like he was deciding between hugging him and socking him in the jaw. He was grateful, but still wary following the Stark Industries treason allegations and understanding that while Howard was generally well meaning he was still as slippery as a snake.

“I never mentioned anything about uninhibited access,” Stark countered, defensively raising his hands in the air as if to indicate his surrender.

 “Please, uninhibited is your middle name, Howard,” Peggy snorted, still not quite sure how he had managed to convince Colonel Phillips to agree to the once diabolical notion. “Besides, it’s not like we have any better options,” Dugan’s living arrangements were barely sufficient for himself, let alone Steve as an added occupant, and no one else would be appropriate to have live with him.

 “Thank you for everything, Howard,” Steve said with earnest, even though he had restrained a laugh at Peggy’s low jab.

“I’m glad someone’s grateful,” Stark seemed pleased with the thanks given. “You’ve never known luxury like it,” He promised, and Steve was sure of that, at least. Luxury was not something he had ever readily described any of his previous residences as, generally one room apartments with leaky ceilings and cracked walls.

Despite Howard’s warning, nothing could have prepared Steve for the townhouse he was shown around. Three storeys of prime real estate in the middle of Manhattan dedicated to one of Stark’s promiscuous properties, purchased and furnished for the sole purpose of housing his discrete relationships. The entire place oozed tasteful grandeur, the very definition of opulence. In Steve’s personal opinion it was all a bit too excessive, comfort set well beyond practicality, but he politely kept those thoughts to himself as he was shown about the place. Dugan seemed to be in agreement, but he was far less tactful about it. 

“D’ya have gold leaf coming out of your ears too, Stark?” He asked in a gruff voice, but he didn’t say ears. He continued to eye the gilded painting frames and door handles with distaste.

“The place could do with some redecorating,” Howard allowed, unfazed as he guided them down one of the hallways. “During the war I didn’t have time, afterwards I just got bored with it. I stopped bringing dames here a year ago, but Jarvis has kept the place clean enough for you two,”

“Everything has been well looked after, I assure you,” Jarvis chimed in, “appropriately sanitised and all,” Steve had preferred not to give any thought to the activities that Howard took part in within the confines of the house, but he was sure they were not what would be considered savoury. 

“Making it out like I’m some kind’a pervert when I just enjoy a little fun,” Howard snorted. rolling his eyes. “Cap over there looks scandalised,” The conversation was cut short as he opened a door. “After you, Sergeant,” He deferred to Dugan. Dum Dum grunted before stepping in.

“It’s a bit floral, isn’t it,” He sniffed, scrutinising the bedroom, “and frilly,” There was an excess of doilies to be sure.

“I like to make things seem like a main residence, have extra rooms to keep up the pretence,” Stark explained, “Though this room is rarely used,” It was not difficult to see. The room looked best suited to the taste of someone’s ageing old aunt, an aunt fond of lace, and would undoubtedly ruin the mood of anyone intending to have ‘a little fun’, as Howard phrased it.

“Is this the only room?” Dugan nearly growled.

“Nope,” Howard grinned, “but it’s the only other one ready,” It soon became even more obvious that Stark had gone out of his way to gift that particular room to Dugan given that Steve’s was in the opposite end of the house. To Steve’s relief, it looked absolutely desolate. 

“It’s a bit sparse, but it’s the nicest, with a good view and lots’a light,”

“Thank you, Howard,”

* * *

“Decided to grace us with your presence, Carter?” Miller said, unaffected by the glare Peggy sent across her desk. He continued to munch on his sandwich and avoid work as she shuffled the papers and files that had piled up in her absence, sorting in the completed paperwork. “What kept ya’ so long?” 

“I’m not inclined to divulge the details of my holiday, Agent,” Peggy replied cooly. “Besides, it wasn’t very interesting,”

“Holiday, ‘huh?” Fisher asked, getting out of his chair at the desk to her right and crossing the aisle. “Got nothin’ to tell us?”

“‘Whole lotta senior agents’ve been meetin’ with Thompson,” Ramirez chimed in. “Seems like there’s something big happening with the higher ups,” At the Peggy almost frowned, before coaching her face into a neutral expression. Thompson certainly did not have the clearance needed to be kept up to date with the newborn Project Fourth, but she had no doubt that most of the chiefs would be sniffing around, knowing something was up. 

“I couldn't begin to guess your meaning,” Peggy continued, “I have’t had contact with the office in over a week,” No, her time had been much more pleasantly occupied, keeping a certain super soldier company. Although, the journey back to the city had been a little awkward. 

“Aw come on, Carter, just throw us a bone,” At that moment, Jack Thompson reared his ugly head, appearing from his office at the scent of secrets. Chief Thompson, in fact. Both he and Sousa enjoyed promotions in the wake of the Leviathan fiasco, with Thompson filling Dooley’s post while Daniel was shoulder-tapped for the new Los Angeles office. Peggy remained an agent, though her time in the field increased exponentially and there were days when she could actually tolerate Thompson. From the look on his face, that day did not seem to be one of those days.

“Carter, can we talk?” 

“Of course,” She said, forcing a smile. He closed the door behind her with not an insignificant degree of force.

“Carter, I pick up the telephone in the middle of the night with Colonel Chester Phillips on the other end of the line, calling to let me know that one of my agents won’t be coming into the office until further notice,” Thompson’s genuine confusion was evident. “Next thing I know, I’m getting told there’s a hell of a show upstate at one of the old bases and no one is taking my calls about it. Anyone that actually knows anything, that is. The amount of people phoning to see what I know is-”

“Are you quite done?” 

“Come on, Marge, I’m your superior office,” He reminded her, “You answer to me, alright? And last I checked my intelligence clearance level outranks yours,”

“Not with this,” Peggy said evenly.

“Why are you involved, Carter? You’re a field agent at best, look, we both know what you’re capable of, but on paper you’re a glorified secretary,” He looked tired, dark circles were under his eyes and Peggy imagined she saw new lines in his face. That didn’t stop her from wanting to punch him so hard his teeth fell out. “Is this about Stark again?” 

“If you have any questions I’d ask you to address them to Colonel Phillips directly, Thompson,” 

“How is it that you’re involved in a case that isn’t on any senior agents’ desk? None of the office chiefs in D.C have even heard of it!”

“The directer requested me personally,” She said simply. “We worked together during the war when I was on loan from MI5,” Many of her colleagues assumed that she had acted as, indeed, a ‘glorified secretary’ until she made it known that she had been an intelligence operative with the British secret service regularly doing field work with the SSR and US military. It was petty to remind Thompson of her history at that moment, but perhaps it would lead his mind further away from more famous aspects of her past and besides, she felt like it.

“You knew Phillips,” He breathed out, looking close to collapsing.

“Yes,” Peggy did not feel guilty for exhausting him. He exhausted her, fighting for every inch of respect was tiring work and she had no inclination to make this any easier.

“Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?” Once people heard that she had been involved with Captain America, involved entailing whatever they wanted it to, they tended to stop listening and let their imaginations go wild. Peggy had made a point to remain tight lipped about her wartime exploits as a consequence. Besides, she didn’t need people thinking she got the job because she had connections. They had already thought the worst of her before she got in the door.

“I don’t recall you setting aside time in the meetings on the Underwood case updates for small talk,” Thompson just sighed.

“I am going to find out about all this, Marge,” He promised, “I hope you can keep up with the work, there aren’t any developments in the case, but everything else you need to take a look at is on your desk,”

* * *

By the time she clocked out Peggy was exhausted. Thompson seemed to have gone out of his way to keep her busy, no doubt to make up for her secrecy, and the files on her desk and piled up until she was drowning in them. She took comfort in the fact that none of the papers they handed her were for her to file and the guys were still taking turns doing the lunch orders. Still, she decided to call in on Howard Stark’s new tenants on her way home, even though it was in a much more expensive end of Manhattan. That was a small detail they didn’t need to know. 

Dugan answered the door with his usual charm, a fuming cigar jutting out of his mouth.

“If it isn’t Miss Union Jack!” He greeted her with a crooked grin, stepping back from the door to let her in. 

“We agreed to never use that, Dugan,” Peggy forced a smile through her teeth and glared. He didn’t offer to take her coat but she handed it to him anyway.

“Everyone has a nickname but you, Peg,” He reminded her as Steve came into the hall.

“Hey,”

“Hello,” Her smile was genuine this time. “I thought I’d stop by and see how the pair of you were settling in,”

“It’s a process,” Steve chuckled, his hand coming up to brush the back of his neck. 

“D’ya want a drink?” Dugan asked as she followed him down the hall and into the kitchen. 

“Why not? I’ve had a difficult day,” A glass of whatever alcohol Dugan found comforting was promptly pressed into her hand.

The three of them chatted in the kitchen for a while until Dugan slipped away, leaving a slight lull in the conversation once his absence was noted. Peggy was at a lost as to what to say. The last time they saw each other, the day before, they had spent most of the time in silence, the trip from New Jersey to New York having taken excessively long. Peggy was sure she fell asleep at some point, but Steve had made no comment when she eventually did come to.

“It’s nothing like the place he gave me and Angie,” She smiled at last, “I suppose you two get special treatment,” Of course, she was willing to suggest that the place appeared to be a much less regularly used than hers. One of Howard’s further precautions in the name of secrecy and discretion, she assumed. 

“What?” He knew who Angie was, she’d mentioned her enough times already, but she supposed that her friend was not the point of issue. She knew she didn’t need to justify herself to him, but at the same time she was not content to leave more blanks in Steve’s understanding.

“A temporary kindness. I was having trouble finding a place after…” Peggy paused, unsure of whether or not to tell him all the details of her past year. “Well, after the SSR arrested me on grounds of treason,” Steve looked shocked, but not as affronted as she expected, so she persisted, “Unfounded charges, obviously, but being dragged out the building in front of all the tenants offended my landlady's sensibilities. Howard felt guilty, mostly because it was his fault, and I couldn’t find a place on such short notice so he gave me one of his places to use in the meantime. I moved out once I found my feet, Angie moved out when she made her big break on broadway,” 

“You know someone on broadway?”

“Uh, yes, yes I do,” Peggy was very proud of what her friend has accomplished.

“It sounds like a long story,” Steve observed, “I’d like to hear it sometime,” Peggy did not reply, merely smiled and continued watching him, expecting him to continue. “I guess it’s a bit strange to think of you moving to New York, living here,” If he was completely honest it was strange to think of anyone outside the context of war. It had dominated all their lives for so long and Steve hadn’t had the same time to adjust to it’s absence the same as everyone else had. He also didn’t like the idea of Peggy making such a momentous move in her life all alone, close to friendless and without any support. He just wasn’t prepared to admit why just yet.

“Not long, just complicated,” Peggy explained, drawing Steve away from his thoughts, “How much time do you have on your hands, soldier?”

“As long as you want,” He said faithfully.

“Well then, I suppose it started with Howard’s stupidity in creating a handful of weapons he referred to as his ‘bad babies’,”

* * *

Steve still felt a warm sensation in his chest, the result of long talks into the night with Peggy, when he woke up the next morning. They had spent the evening with her recounting tales of Howard’s weapons, Peggy’s heroics and Leviathan, before the conversation turned to other things that had no connection at all to a covert intelligence agency kickstarted by the Soviets. They talked until the garish clocks in the hall announced it was eleven o’clock and Peggy reluctantly left. Steve had offered to walk her home, “Seeing as how late it is,” He said and she snorted in reply, and they were forced to say their farewells at his doorstep.

“Peggy, I was hoping that, uh, maybe we could…” Steve had stumbled, searching for the words as she looked at him expectantly. It wasn’t fair on her, detaining her from her journey and out on the cold stoop while he fumbled with what to say. “Peg, I, uh,” He met her eyes in way of an apology and she offered him a kind smile as encouragement. He was hopeless with talking to dames, he’d told her that before, but she didn’t seem to mind too much. “Do you remember that dance you promised me? Back when I-”

“Yes,” She breathed, “I faintly recall making a date for that Saturday, 8 o’clock at the Stork Club,” Peggy had called him up on it the moment he opened his eyes, teasing him in a way that meant he could never tell whether or not she was joking.“You’re very late, Steve,”

“Do you think I missed my chance, then?” He asked, and he felt his mouth forming a stupid grin as he spoke, hope causing his heart to hammer. There wasn’t a lot of things that could make his heart beat faster anymore, but Peggy Carter sure was one of them. 

“Not by a long shot,” She said, and for a moment Steve thought her eyes looked a little damp, but it might have been a light. “Good night, Steve,” She hadn’t called him Steve a lot beforehand. As his superior she had always been Agent Carter, even if he always though of her as Peggy, and she always addressed him Rogers, or even Captain Rogers. The only other time he remembered her calling him Steve was over the radio, right before he put the aircraft into the water. He infinitely preferred the way she said his name when she said good night. 

Steve revisited the sound of his name on her lips, her laughter, even the way she said words, enunciating each syllable and ending every sentence so crisply. He liked everything she said, what she meant and how it sounded, but he especially liked the way she said his name, he could listen to her say his name all day. It was thoughts like these that kept that glowing feeling in his chest, that kept that especially goofy smile on his face, until he came downstairs the next morning and saw Dugan sat at the kitchen table.

Steve thought he could smell the bourbon Dum Dum had mixed into the black coffee from the hall, but maybe he was just expecting it by then. He also instantly clocked his friend’s sour face, which he attributed to the morning paper strewn across the table. He wasn’t wrong. 

“Guess we don’t have ta’ hide anymore,” Dugan said grimly, taking a swig out of his cup as Steve looked down at the front page, frowning. The headline was simple, to the point, and spelled absolute disaster. 

 

**CAPTAIN AMERICA ALIVE**

 


	5. CAPTAIN AMERICA ALIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy deals with the fall out from a press leak and Steve realises just what his disappearance meant to her.

 

“Bloody rats,” Peggy hissed, teeth clenched. Judging by the clenched fist on the table, resting heavily on the latest edition of the paper, Colonel Phillips agreed.

“Everyone was on a need-to-know basis,” Agent Flynn said, shaking his head. “I don’t see how they could have found out,”

“People talk!” Howard cried from post by the window, flailing his arms about. He had been mostly quiet until then, nervously stroking his upper lip and glaring out of the blinds. Peggy would have made note that his paranoia seemed to be a learnt trait from his time as a fugitive, but she was far too rattled to give it much thought. “What’s a juicer bit a’ gossip than a war hero back from the dead? Captain America resurrected! You shouldn’t have brought more people on than what was absolutely necessary,” At that, Phillips rose to his feet, palms forcing themselves into the conference table. He leaned into the wall, fingers clenching the bridge of his nose as if he was willing himself somewhere else. 

“Everyone was to be appropriately checked and vetted before entering the facility, that was the whole purpose of Project Fourth!” Flynn bit back, adding a glare in Peggy’s direction.

“For ties to foreign intelligence services, not for seconds cousins that were journalists,” She retorted. It could hardly be considered an oversight on her part that some errant janitor had gotten word to the press, if he had in fact been the informant. What concerned her was how exactly he had gotten his hands on SSR medical files. “Besides, we’re not even certain he was the leak,” The only connection any of the employees at the facility had with the paper was the janitor, but it seemed incredibly odd that he could access a copy of a highly confidential medical document. 

Peggy had woken up in a better mood than she had in years, ready to face the day and all it’s challenges, until she had been confronted by said challenge over her morning cup of tea. That was how she found herself in a sealed conference room of the New York Office, surrounded by senior agents and officers all frothing at the mouth. They all had two goals in mind, firstly to argue against everything and anything they were accused of and blame someone else for it, and secondly to find out who was responsible so as to damage their career irreparably. It was by luck that Phillips was still in town, his flight to D.C had been delayed, and he had hastily summoned Stark and Carter before entering into the fray. The entire atmosphere of the room was tense, they all knew heads were going to roll and the only thing undecided was who would be on the chopping block.

“Other papers have started printing it too,” Robinson informed them, throwing down a stack of papers that emitted the distinct smell of fresh ink. “Fresh off the press, and there’s more coming,” Peggy glanced behind him to see another agent fighting through the sea of military personnel crowding the door, waiting to see Colonel Phillips and demand the truth in no uncertain terms.

“Surely the report couldn’t have been verified, it’s all coming from one source,” Someone said at the far end of the table.

“I’d say the money they’d make from this is enough to risk journalistic integrity,” Young countered, “And it’s not like it’s the first time anyone’s printed anything on unsubstantiated reports,” He aimed a pointed look at Howard as he said it. Stark and his relationship with the press was a running joke among the SSR, namely because they tended to know more about him than the intelligence agency itself.

“Oh I wouldn’t believe a word the press says about me, it’s all true,” Howard quipped, though it earns him only a few stoney stares and his joke didn’t reach his eyes. Another time, Peggy might have smiled for his sake. 

“Who was briefed, aside from the medical team?” Phillips asked, eyeing Flynn. “Howard’s right, people talk, but I don’t see the docs socialising too much with the cleaning crew,”

“Everyone on Project Fourth and the recovery unit we sent to the location, I’m sure some on the engineering crew could have put two and two together towing in the aircraft, and then there’s the countless others Stark had on his expedition,” Flynn said expedition like it was a curse word.

“They’re all good men,” Howard insisted. 

“If they’re in your employ I seriously doubt it, Stark,” Peggy was offended for Jarvis’s sake, but stayed quiet. She was still staring at the reproduced medical file, willing for it to divulge some information to her. All it really did was frustrate her.

“They couldn’t have worked with me too long if they didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut, all right?” Howard seemed to think that was enough to quell the questions.

“The leak could’ve come from anyone if if all the newspapers have the story,” “No one’s helping out a second cousin anymore,” 

“Well there goes our only lead,” Someone sighed. Peggy did not recognise the voice, but judging by the impact they made when they flung themselves into a chair it was likely another one of the more rounder, middle aged senior officers who had distinguished themselves before retiring from fieldwork and worked an exclusively managerial position.

“The medical file they used as evidence could give us a clue. It’s signed by a Doctor Hansen, who treated Rogers at the Camp Leigh facilities before and after he regained consciousness,”

“I spoke with him multiple times,” Peggy said, trying to not let her distaste for the man taint her tone or her judgement, “He didn’t seem exactly trustworthy,” But only in the mundane, harmless sense of the word. She knew from one glance he was no threat, certainly not trained in espionage or anything of the sort, and Peggy had wondered if her dislike of him stemmed only from his questioning her right to be there. Still, greater men had sold secrets to the tabloids.

“If you have physical access to the medical marvel that is a super soldier I’m not sure the press would be a priority,” Flynn frowned, clearly dismissive of her idea.

“Treating Captain America is a claim to fame few physicians would be able to pass up, such a high profile patient would definitely be good for business,” Peggy said. Her eyes narrowed only a little, “See, look,” She continued, indicating a line on the file, “his name is there clear as day on the document and he would have had unadulterated access to all the medical files,” 

“A journalist would trust the story of a doctor who’s treating the patient more than a janitor,” Stark agreed, “It would explain the lack of verification,”

“Well then, we’ll just have to call in on Doctor Hansen won’t we?” Phillips said, “Now, if you would excuse me, there are a few generals that would like to see me about a man with a shield,” Peggy had seen the same expression on the Colonel’s face more than enough times to recognise it was the one he wore going into battle.

* * *

“How are you doing?” Peggy asked over the receiver, cradling it in the crook of the neck as she used both hands to move the kettle over to her cup. 

“Uh, fine, I guess,” Was Steve’s nonchalant reply. “It’s been two days and I think Dum Dum’s already sick of babysitting me,”

“I suspect he’s glad to have you back, he just doesn’t know how to show it,” Peggy said, knowing full well that Dugan was just a big teddy bear - if a gruff and borderline alcoholic one.

“Yeah. I don’t think me not being able to go out is helping,” It had been fine before the news had leaked, no one would have been looking for Captain America then and even if someone recognised him who would believe them? As far as the rest of the world was concerned Steve Rogers was dead. Then the press became a frenzied mess, spewing fact and fiction seamlessly interwoven into their pages as the story developed throughout the day. In less than 24 hours

“They’ll be an official press release in the morning, and I don’t doubt soon after they’ll ask you to make an appearance. After that it’s back to living a normal life,” 

“Yeah,” He didn’t sound elated at the prospect. 

“Steve?”

“It’s just a lot to figure out,” 

“I’m sure it is,” Finding a place to stay, a job, finding old friends, it was a jarring experience for them all, the return to normalcy. At least Peggy had watched the progression of the war coming to a close, had time to maybe wonder at what she would do when it was finally over, Steve had woken up one day to find out the event that had dominated every aspect of his life for so long was done. Then, of course, there was the added issue of him being Captain America, a genetically altered super soldier and a country’s icon. The procedure that had altered his life so much was done in the name of fighting the Nazis.

“I’m so sorry the news broke early,” Was all Peggy could think to say in way of an apology.

“It was bound to at some point,” He said, resigned. 

“Yes, but you could have had a few days of freedom. And any reports getting back to the Soviets could have been chalked up to intentional misinformation. Now…” 

“They’re a real problem now, huh?” That was an understatement.

 “You need to be careful, Steve,” Peggy couldn’t even think about the danger he was in now, not when it had consumed her entire day. After the emergency meeting she had spent her entire day with the rest of Project Fourth monitoring other intelligence agencies and their reactions. “More than ever, now,”

“About two weeks ago I was fighting Nazis and storming Hydra bases,” Peggy felt her temper flare.

“Yes, but you weren’t very careful, were you?” She bit her lip as soon as the words were said, regretting them immediately. “Contrary to popular belief you aren’t immortal, that’s all I meant,” 

“No, that’s fair,” He sighed.

“Well, after the press conference tomorrow there won’t be any need to hide anymore,” Peggy said, in part to apologise and in part to change the subject.

“Maybe we could go the Stork Club after all,” Steve replied halfheartedly.

 “Perhaps, when it all dies down,” They both knew it probably wouldn’t die down for quite sometime.

* * *

Steve couldn’t sleep. Three o’clock in the morning and he was wide awake, staring at the ceiling above his bed and practically begging all the powers that be to let him close his eyes. The conversation with Peggy plagued him, set his mind racing and conjuring up one unhelpful thought after the other. He had the press conference the next day, he needed to be well rested, but he all he could think about was the tone of her voice, reminding him of his most recent and spectacular of blunders. 

He briefly feigned rehearsing the lines of his prepared speech, trying either to bore himself into falling asleep or to distract himself with the irritatingly familiar role of the show monkey. Whatever he was attempting to do didn’t work, his mind was still preoccupied with Peggy Carter. More specifically, her annoyance with him. This time she didn’t shoot at him, though, so Steve guessed that was a bonus. He knew he wasn’t the most adapt person with women, but he had figured that as long as he treated them with the same respect he’d give anybody else he wouldn’t go wrong. So, it wasn’t hard to realise that Peggy was upset with him, and that it had deeper roots than a brief conversation over the telephone.

Below the annoyance in her tone, the familiar annoyance, was a distinct and heartfelt pain. He had hurt her. It hadn’t hit him until that moment, exactly what she would have went through. For all intents and purposes he died. When he woke up, Steve was told he had been gone for more than a year, and in that time everyone had thought he was dead, gone, lost, killed in action. It hadn’t processed at the time. It was one thing to be informed he had been legally dead, it was another to realise the consequences of it.

The sounds of the city had never bothered Steve before. Listening to the hum and mill of the surrounding streets had helped him ground himself when he was younger, when it became difficult to think of anything other than his struggling lungs, weak heart and frail body. The noise bothered him then, though, when he was trying to ignore the sound of a cat padding down an alley three streets over while he was thinking about just what Peggy must have been feeling. She had lived a year without him, mourning him if he wasn’t mistaken. If it hadn’t been for Howard he would still have been at the bottom of the arctic ocean, frozen solid and legally dead. When he woke up it would have been easy for her to put aside her hurt, her pain and frustration in favour of simply being happy he was alive. Afterwards, well, Steve realised that he had been a dramatic idiot. Again. Bucky would have laughed, told him just how stupid he had been. And, Steve hoped, he would tell him not to waste the second chance he’d been given. Steve had defied death his entire life, but the crash had certainly been his closest call. He had almost lost everything, lost Peggy, lost the life he had dreamed of them living together. He wouldn’t take the opportunity he had been given for granted.

Steve made a plan. In the morning he would dress, sit down with Dugan, and talk through the last year. He’d catch up on everything he had missed, which he hoped would help fill in some blanks he still had and hopefully answer the questions Peggy’s stories had left him with. Then, he would get ready for the ridiculous press release, prepare to smile and nod along with all the generals, senators and other elites they introduced to him. After that, when it was all done and the world knew that Captain America had returned, he was going to ask Peggy Carter out on a date.

* * *

“I can confirm that following a continuous and detailed search effort on July 28th, Howard Stark, on behalf of the United States Military, recovered Captain Steve Rogers who was previously declared killed in action,” Colonel Phillips monotonous voice resounded through the speakers outside city hall and the crowd of journalists, reporters and fans listened with baited breath. “Against all rational belief, Captain Rogers was recovered alive,” In the wings of the temporarily constructed stage, Peggy was nearly deafened by the roaring of the crowd.

“We identified one of the junior doctors as the leak,” She murmured in a lull of the applause, quiet but loud enough that a super-soldier’s hearing would pick it up. “I thought you might want to know,” Steve nodded in thanks.

“He was treated for minor issues associated with hyperthermia at an army base before being returned home to New York,”

“Minor?” Steve frowned, leaning closer so that Peggy could hear him. “I was frozen solid,”

“They thought it best that the specifics of the medical marvel were kept classified,” The fewer people who understood his physiology the better. Doctor Erskine was the only one to ever comprehensively understand Steve’s biochemistry, but even slight hints at the nature of the serum needed to be kept secret.

“Captain Rogers was fortunate to survive both the crash and then the harsh terrains of the arctic, isolated and ill equipped for the extreme conditions. His very presence here today is a testimonial to his personal courage, commitment and ingenuity, and the valour and bravery demonstrated by all our troops,” 

Steve felt it was a bit strange to hear Phillips singing his praises given how many times before he had endured a dressing down from him. He didn’t think it was something he could get used to, and Peggy seemed to understand his thoughts immediately.

“He thinks very highly of you,” She said, offering a smile. “He was devastated after… Well, we all were,” He was reminded of his decisions the night before.

Steve had been informed of his schedule when he arrived, that straight after the press release he would be whisked off to talk with all the very rich and interesting old men that had expressed an interest in meeting the ‘sentinel of freedom’. The plans had earned a “have fun brown-nosing” from Dugan, and ruined Steve’s idea of how his day would go. He wouldn’t see Peggy again that day, at least, the entire afternoon and evening was blocked out with social engagements he would much rather have avoided. Then seemed a good time as any. 

“Are you free next Saturday?” He asked as the audience broke into applause once more.

“What?” Peggy mouthed, shaking her head. Steve leaned in closer, lips close to her ear. He couldn’t help but think he was overstepping his boundaries, too forward and familiar for comfort, but it was also the only way for her to hear him. Besides, there was no more risk of him being discharged from ranks for insolence.

“Are you free next Saturday?” He repeated. Peggy broke into a grin, smiling up at him as he pulled away. 

“What do you have in mind, Rogers?” She asked when the noise died down. “Dancing at the Stork Club?” 

“Yeah, that,” He smiled at her, ducking his head a little. Peggy insisted on meeting his eye, and her expression changed from happy to one he had seen only once or twice - one he’d seen on her face when she wore that red dress and imply that the right partner, her right partner, was him. She looked like she was about to eat him alive and Steve felt himself blush at the realisation.

Peggy had not planned on seducing Captain America backstage of the ceremony announcing his miraculous return, separated from a crowd of tens of thousands of people by a few pieces of wood. In her experience, however, things rarely did go to plan. Not unlike Steve, she decided to make the most of the second chance they’d been offered. It took her a second to look across to stage right, to see that all the aides and attendants had dispersed and the mayor had joined Phillips on stage. It took her another second to realise that they were a little while away from Steve’s cue. Not nearly long enough, but it was then or never. 

Before Steve knew what was happening Peggy had grabbed him by his tie and crashed his lips onto hers. He lost his breath, but quickly recovered, delving further into her embrace. He could taste her lipstick on him as he gingerly moved his hands to brush her sides and she pushed further into his arms. It was just like their first kiss, rushed and unexpected, but utterly glorious all the same. Steve felt Peggy tilt her head a little, sucking on his lower lip and he let out an involuntary groan.

“I missed you,” She whispered against his lips. His hand tightened around her waist in response.

“I know,” Steve said in earnest, partially transfixed by the look in her eyes. Absolute complete devotion and love swam in them, and he knew they mirrors his. They stayed like that for a while, staring at each other, but just as Steve initiated the next quick kiss a sound distracted Peggy, and he followed her gaze to the stage. 

“That’s your cue, Captain,”Peggy sighed, making a hurried effort to rub off the lipstick on his mouth with her thumb. She wasn’t very successful, but hoped that at least it wouldn’t show up in the photographs. 

“Yes it is,” He laughed barely above his breath, and she led him over to the side of the stage.

“And now, it is my honour to introduce to you all, ladies and gentleman, Captain America,” The mayor’s booming voice echoed through the microphone as Peggy watched Steve walk out to meet the adoring crowds, the feel of his soft lips lingering on hers. Yes, Captain America was very much alive. 


	6. Steve, Meet Angie Martinelli

The weekend following the announcement of Captain America’s return was the maddest Peggy had seen since the end of the war. The entire country was in uproar, the press spouting headlines faster than they could make them up while senators, congressman, businessmen and celebrities alike rushed to make press releases celebrating his return. Steve spent most of it holed up with Duganand the rest of the Howlies, who all made a concerted effort to get him well and truly drunk - to no avail. Peggy called on them on Sunday to find all except Steve suffering from horrendous hangovers,and for their sakes did not stay long. The majority of her weekend was spent at home, sorting through files on Project Fourth and the work she had neglected with the NY Bell Tower office. 

On Monday morning it took Peggy an exceptionally long time to get out of bed. The japes and jokes she was destined to endure during her walk into the office did not make the prospect of the day particularly enticing. Still, she forced herself awake, already in a foul mood. She had put up with the taunts before, the only difference now was that Steve was alive. He had been returned to her, safe and whole, and if the jeers of her coworkers was the only price she had to pay to get that dance he’d promised her, well, that wasn't so bad.

Peggy walked into work with very little faith in her forbearing attitude. She was never one to be placid and mild, particularly in the face of insipid comments, and while she had successfully forced herself to ignore the remarks made by her colleagues before a part of her felt it was high time she started punching out men like she had recruits during the war. It was for the best that her patience was not tested. When she came into the office some few nodded, one or two smiled, but they all went back to their work quickly enough and the vast majority of the agents had yet to clock in at all. It was an altogether unnerving experience. Peggy wondered if they had heard the news at all, which was ridiculous. Everyone had heard. She couldn’t explain why they were being so professional. 

Jack Thompson called her into his office before she got the chance to sit down.

“Well?” He just sat there, watching with a smirk on his face for what felt like years. “Is there any development in the Underwood case?”

“Ah, yes, that,” He looked surprised that she’d even brought it up. “The office in D.C has been following the lead that took them out down that way and have turned up nothing,” Peggy rolled her eyes and made a move to leave, “but we’ve also been reaching out to our sources in Moscow,”

“And?” Peggy didn’t like his tendency to stretch out briefings, how he always kept her in the dark for as long as possible. It was yet another thing that irritated her about him.

“The file’s all here,” Thompson shrugged, handing her the document from across the desk. At Peggy’s withering glare he elaborated. “We might have found out who she really is,” Peggy frowned.

“Her true identity?”

“You were right,” Something dropped in the pit of her stomach. She had desperately wanted to be wrong about Dottie.

“All of it?” 

“All of it,” He confirmed. There was just the hint of a sigh in his voice when he said it. It was a heavy weight, even for him. Though whatever degree of empathy he had expressed failed to further soften her opinion of him when he change the subject entirely. “So, Captain America, eh?” 

“I didn’t know this was a social call, Thompson,” Peggy answered curtly.

“I’m just saying congratulations, that’s all,” She didn’t believe it for a second. “Must be great to be serving under a captain again,”

“How very unoriginal,” Peggy had heard that one before. It had been a very popular joke, all the wisecracks in the office had told it at one time or another. It didn’t affect her in the slightest.

“I just feel sorry for Sousa, really,” Peggy had a good mind to slap him. “Too soon?” Thompson feigned innocence. “Too… Presumptuous?” He quoted, imitating her response to a particularly unsubtle implication he had made about herself and Daniel.

Peggy didn’t have a work-appropriate response to that. If he wasn’t her superior she would have known exactly what to say, but as it stood she had nothing to say to him.

“Don’t you have more important things to think about, Thompson?” She inquired in a decidedly forceful tone and dreamed of the day when she would eventually be his superior. She added a glare for good measure.

“Ruffled some feathers did I?” He never knew when to quit, did he? Peggy turned on her heel and walked out of his office before she did something rash. If he didn’t have anything to preoccupy himself, at least she did. She needed to find out more about Dottie.

Within the first five minutes she spent at her desk Peggy found that Dottie’s real name was in fact Aleksandra Pavlova and was born in Moscow, 1927. What little intelligence the S.S.R had been able to gather about the Red Room programme indicated that she was in the majority of the girls recruited; her family had been known political dissidents within the party who had supported the wrong faction when Stalin rose to power. They had disappeared sometime in the winter of 1929, it was unclear whether or not it was due to the discovery of any real plot or an imagined conspiracy. She entered the Red Room facility at the age of two. Training began almost immediately.

Peggy sat the documents aside as a cold feeling spread in her chest. She had no doubt she knew more about Dottie than she did herself after reading the file, but it was still so sparse. Cold, calculated language told the woman’s entire life story, simple and to the point. And it still gave no indication as to where she was. There was no lead. Despite all of Thompson’s Moscow contacts they had nothing. 

It was going to be a long week, but Peggy had a date to look forward to.

* * *

Steve had never had much opportunity in the way of careers. He was a poor, skinny kid from the wrong side of Brooklyn who grew up with a single mother, watching her struggle to feed a sickly child on a measly nurse’s salary. The Wall Street crash in 1929 sent them further into poverty, but they had never prospered before. The boys he grew up with, Bucky included, were all destined to become cheap manual labour, but a guy pushing 90 pounds soaking wet was not someone capable of serious heavy lifting. It didn’t leave many options open to that kid from Brooklyn, but Captain America? It was a dizzying array of possibilities ahead of him. 

“There are options available,” Phillips said, looking down at the piles of papers Steve expected were military files on him. “You can remain with the S.S.R, if you choose. You’d be a combat agent, of course, I think we’d both agree you’re not exactly spy material,” Steve almost laughed. The walk to the main New York office had shown him that he couldn’t go a block without someone recognising him and his build meant that he would always be conspicuous even in a crowded room. It had been a week since the public was given the confirmation that Captain America was alive and well and the excitement and uproar it had caused had yet to die down.

“You’d be right about that,”

“You would join the Howling Commandos in their field missions, if that is your choice,” 

“They’re still running missions?” Steve frowned. He knew Peggy was still working for the intelligence agency in what was clearly an active role, but Dugan had not so much as mentioned the continuation of the unit. 

“The war might be over, but there’s more in the world besides Nazis and Hydra. We might be gearing up for another war, and soon, with the U.S.S.R, if we’re not extremely careful. Field operations for the sake of counterintelligence are vital,” Phillips replied grimly. “Or you could go back to what you were doing before the war,”

 As soon as Steve was old enough to convince someone to give him a job he was doing all sorts of things to help out at home. Odd jobs, but soon he was too old to be a paperboy and working on a factory line was too hard on his lungs. He took what he could get, daily labour. He did as well as anyone did with unemployment rate, and left school when his mother got sick. After she died it took a while for him to find his feet, but eventually he saved up enough money to go back to school. They had never been in a financial position for him to learn a trade, but by himself he was able to put himself through art classes. Bucky joined him, said there always needed to be someone to keep him out of trouble. There was that too. Finding out what his life would be like without the only constant in it. Bucky was gone.

“It’s been hard on a lot of them, coming back to civilian life after all that madness and death,” Phillips said after a while, misinterpreting his silence. Though that was another thing Steve was only just beginning to comprehend. His bed was too soft, his clothes were too clean and his life had absolutely no structure now that it was devoid of both work and war. The war had offered him the purpose he had been lacking, Steve wasn’t sure what his place was in a world without it.

“I was in art school, before the war,” Phillips arched an eyebrow, but did not say anything. A strange passion for someone who had been colour blind for the majority of their life. Steve had found that drawing pictures on the old bits of paper his mother would give him when he was sick almost made up for the numerous illnesses and didn’t really matter much that he wasn’t all that good. Bucky was the one to say he should think about doing something with it.

“I’m sure we could arrange something, if that is what you want,” The colonel offered. Steve thought his expression could be interpreted as a kind smile, but he wasn’t sure and it was gone too soon. 

“I’ll think about it,” He promised at last. 

“I’ll be passing your case on to Agent Flynn, all the New York chiefs answer to him,” Phillips nodded, satisfied. “I’ve been needed in Washington since last week, I thought I’d stay and see to it that you were settled and now the big wigs are calling,” Steve had heard the name Flynn before, in Peggy’s extended account of events. He sincerely hoped it was not the same man, her recount of his disrespectful treatment of her had left a bad taste in his mouth, but he doubted as much. There were rarely coincidences in the Strategic Scientific Reserve. 

“Thank you, Sir,” Steve said. “For everything you’ve done,”

Phillips grunted. “We owe you everything, boy,”

* * *

Saturday morning was an entirely different experience than Monday morning for Peggy. Her entire week had been leading up to it. All the knowing stares, strange glances and japes from Thompson, they would be worth it, that night would make it all worth it. She was going to get her dance, and now that she was so close nothing was going to stop her.  

Peggy got out of bed with a zeal for life she had not felt in sometime, toeing the line between nerves and excitement as she got ready and thought out the plan for the evening. She hadn’t allowed herself to feel that way in sometime, far too close to giddy to be taken seriously, and she was revelling in it now. She’d teach Steve how to dance, she’d help him through the fast dances and probably laugh at their mistakes just the same as she’d draw closer to him when the band played a slow number and enjoy the sensation of him holding her. He’d get a good night’s kiss, regardless of how well her dance lessons went, and she’d come home looking forward to the next time, the next date.

Of course, before that, she had to deal with a stunned and speechless Angie Martinelli.

“I don’t believe it,” Angie said, eyes going wide. Her fork clattered down onto her plate as she continued to stare in disbelief. “I really don’t believe it!” Peggy nervously glanced around the diner, aware of the disturbance they were causing. Angie no longer worked at the L&L, not since she received her salary on her first big role, but Peggy still liked to eat there. It was convenient, and all the girls knew her and knew Angie. The last thing she wanted was to make a scene, not when it was already virtually guaranteed.

“Is it so very implausible?”

“Well, English, ya go from desperately single destined to die an old maid-” Peggy rolled her eyes before interrupting her. Her perceived spinsterhood had been a point of much contention recently. 

“Angie, if there’s one thing you should know about me by now is that I am no where near a ‘maid’,” She reminded her, the topic exhausting her to no end. She stopped writing her mother to avoid the very same lecture.

“My point is that last time I checked there was no one to be found and now you have a guy outta no where is all!” Angie replied. “Say, this doesn’t have anything to do with that phone call you got?” Peggy did not even have a chance to answer. “He’s the one from that picture, isn’t he? The one you met during the war?” Angie had mentioned that her brother didn’t look anything like her, leading Peggy to point out that she didn’t keep a photo of her brother with her.

“Yes,”

“Y’know I always assumed he was dead, seeing as you never talked about him,”

“Yes, well, so did I, for a time,” Peggy said with an airy laugh. She looked up from where her hands were folded on the table to see Angie’s eyebrows knit together, and then a strange expression appeared on her face. She was staring passed her now, looking even more bewildered, and Peggy turned to see Steve walking towards them. 

“Oh my god!”

“Angie-”

“I knew he looked familiar!” Angie cried. “I knew I’d seen him somewhere!” Her mouth was hanging open as Steve approached the table.

“Please,” Peggy said, already concerned as to how the introductions were going to go, and greeted Steve with a smile.

“Hello,” He smiled back.

“Hello,” Her voice sounded too cheery for her own liking, something her friend was sure to pick up on. “Angie this is Steve,” Peggy gestured to her. “Steve, meet Angie Martinelli,” 

“It’s good to meet you, Peggy’s told me all about you,” Steve said, at the same time Angie spoke. 

“I saw you on the USO tour,”

“Oh,” He paused briefly, before continuing to extend his hand.

“Back in ’43,” Angie elaborated, stellar smile still on her face. “I auditioned for a role as one of the showgirls but there wasn’t any opening,” 

“I hear you’re very successful now, though,”

Angie’s grin broadened in response, and as she began to explain how her big break happened Peggy sent an approving smile Steve’s way. She wasn’t quite so nervous anymore.

* * *

“How did it happen?” Angie asked during a lull in the conversation. The tale of her rise to national fame and stardom had been told, along with the story of how her and Peggy met and her role in the conundrum with Stark’s toys. 

“How did what happen?” Both Peggy and Steve were unclear as to what she was asking.

“I saw you in that photograph-” 

“Angie!” Peggy interrupted, just as Steve asked “Which photograph?”

“The one Peggy has of you, when you were less…” Angie gestured vaguely to Steve, but it was sufficient enough to communicate what she meant. Steve turned to Peggy, and she actually looked sheepish for once. 

“It was the one from your file,” She admitted, refusing to meet his eye.

“Ah,” He smiled, and Angie would have sworn that Peggy Carter, resident cool, calm, collected Ice Queen, was blushing. She would have teased her about it if it wasn’t abundantly clear that her friend and the newly returned Captain America were having a moment.

Peggy forced herself to meet his eyes, and instantly regretted avoiding them. They were truly enchanting, and the expression on his face was almost too much. She would have found it insufferably smug on anyone else, but it was Steve, and the steady joy that was radiating off of him put Peggy at a loss for words. One could say he looked adorable, very nearly even cute. Yes, Peggy relented, she would use the word cute. What on earth was she becoming? She couldn’t even properly chastise herself, she was smirking just the same as he was. 

“At least I didn’t steal it and put it in a compass for the whole world to see,” She pointed out, eyebrows raised. Steve suddenly became very aware of the familiar weight of the compass in his pocket. It was a good luck charm for him, and old habits die hard. He was able to suppress the urge to brush his fingers inside his pocket, over the round, worn surface, just to reassure himself it was there. Angie, however, was much less restrained.

“Oh my god that was you!?” She gasped, eyes bulging as she looked to Peggy. “Oh of course it was! I see it now, oh my lord I’m an idiot!” Peggy laughed but held Steve’s gaze and he noticed not for the first just how much he liked her laugh. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh, he realised.“How did I not know this?!” Angie demanded, distracting him.

The trio talked for a little while more after that, laughing as food lay forgotten until it went cold. The topics strayed from photographs to Howard Stark to what they were going to do that nigh. Angie volunteered her own plans, explaining that after meeting Peggy she had planned to eat another dinner with her family, catch up with all the cousins and sisters she had missed, and furiously interrogated the pair about what their plans were until, eventually, Steve cracked. Peggy did not grudge him it, though, Angie Martinelli could have given Thompson’s and his ‘techniques’ a run his money. Besides, Angie found the story behind their date sufficiently melodramatic and heartwarming. 

Just as they were about to leave for the Stork Club, Angie pulled her aside. 

“Well, English, I guess you aren’t a spy for nothin’, you can sure keep a secret!” She said cheerfully, pulling her into a tight hug, and when Peggy slipped her hand into Steve’s she was positively beaming.


	7. Something Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peggy finally get their dance, with a healthy confession of love mixed in for good measure.

The Stork Club was packed, as was expected, and just the right amount of people were just the right degree of drunk to make Steve’s presence unnoticeable. The man at the door didn’t even recognise him and made a comment about the place being far too full, despite having let in a whole gaggle of young women ahead of them. Then he took a good look at Peggy, and she quickly flashed him that winning smile of hers which was reserved for undercover operations. He held the door out for them politely. Peggy didn’t fail to notice how uncomfortable the transaction made Steve, but she reminded herself not to read too much into his fidgeting. He was protective, she certainly knew that, but possessive was not a word she would have associated with him.

Steve also displayed uncharacteristic behaviour when she took off her coat, but for an entirely different reason. Peggy had previously worn a coat over her dress, first when she went to meet Angie at the L&L and then during the walk with Steve, but with all the warm bodies she doubted she would need any protection from the cold. She barely needed it before, in the middle of July, but it’s removal had certainly drawn the attention of a certain someone.

He didn’t stare, exactly, when she took it off, but Peggy could tell that he wanted to. His gaze kept flitting to and fro, between the space straight ahead of him and herself. Her dress wasn’t lurid, but the azure blue fabric clung to her in a suggestive manner she enjoyed and the neckline was especially flattering. Peggy was not ashamed to say she looked what Howard would have described as ‘like a million bucks’. Steve didn’t look too bad himself, cutting a fine figure she couldn’t fail to notice. They looked quite the dashing couple. Still, it didn’t explain the quizzical expression that was on his face when she met his eyes, challenging his attention with a questioning look.

“Blue?”

“Yes, blue,” Peggy said, “I like the way it looks,” She added defensively. She was unsure as to what he meant, but wasn’t prepared to have him question her if that was what he was doing.

“You look swell!” Steve rushed to say, incredibly embarrassed. “Beautiful, really, Peggy, I just…” Now she was curious.

“You?”

“I sorta thought you’d wear the red one is all,” He admitted, “I’m sorry, I guess I just imagined this with you looking like you did in that bar back in London,” Peggy remembered it well. The red dress was one of her few indulgences during the war, a simple number that accentuated her curves not unlike the one she was wearing then but in a lavish colour that, with the correct level of confidence, could stop a room. She had worn it with the seduction of Steve Rogers in mind, and it seemed she was very thorough in her success.

“Did you think about this often?” Peggy’s face was severe but there was a teasing lilt to her voice, the words barely concealing a smirk. The revelation that the good captain had spent a long period of time thinking about what their first date would look like was a very pleasing one, and only endeared him to her further, if that was even possible. Despite the humorous and affectionate tone, however, Steve looked somewhere between embarrassed and mortified.

“I only ever dreamed of it,” He confessed, and Peggy wondered whether she ought to have mercy on him. But she did enjoy watching the colour beginning to stain his cheeks, knowing she was the reason behind it, her with her wicked ways threatening his innocent sensibilities. God, she loved him. The thought was not reflective of a new feeling, she had felt the same way for such a long time, but it was the first time in years when the realisation made her feel something other than a deep and prolonged grief or regret. No, this time she felt only happiness.

Steve, for his own part, was just relieved to see the smile spread on her lips. He was never good with speaking with the ladies and had nearly winced when he realised what he had sounded like. Dreamed of it? Really? He mentally kicked himself, wondering if he could have come up with a more loaded way of putting it, but he guessed it had been the right thing to say. Peggy was smiling at him, that was what mattered.

Wordlessly, Steve offered his arm to her and she accepted it. He couldn’t help but think she looked radiant, her smile warm and eyes bright, and Steve concluded that, as he suspected, red or blue Peggy Carter was a knockout. As they passed through the doors she leaned closer, mouth so close he could feel her breath on his neck and her lips brush the air beside his ear as she spoke.

“You’ll have to earn the red one,” Peggy, proud of herself, drew back to see him blushing profusely.

* * *

Steve may have been a celebrity, but that meant he blended in with the majority of the Stork Club’s glittering patrons, glamorous socialites, actresses, showmen and millionaires flocking to the nightclub en masse. He was a famous face in a crowd full of them, and if someone recognised him they would also recognise the next ten people beside him. All in all it allowed for a remarkable degree of privacy.

“It would seem you aren’t the most interesting person around after all,” Peggy said, watching the reaction of the crowd as yet another film star appeared out of the VIP lounge on the arm of some dynasty politician.

“Disappointed?” Steve grinned.

“Quite the opposite in fact, you?”

“You know me,” Was his ambivalent reply. Steve was just relieved he hadn’t caused a scene like when he went out to get the paper on the Monday. His lesson had been learned very quickly when the boy at the stall, wide eyed and stammering, had passed him the morning paper with his own face staring back at him. Almost immediately half a dozen people had surrounded him, apparently appearing from thin air. The fame wasn’t necessarily new, he had done pictures and posters before, as well as the USO tour, but he had always had his costume on. The papers printing photos of him without the helmet obstructing his face and changed the game entirely.

“Well then, Captain, care to dance?”

The dance floor was crowded with throngs of people swaying to an up-tempo beat. It was intimidating to say the least, and it didn’t look like the mass of bodies would be very forgiving of a novice’s slow rhythm.

“Maybe when they play something slow?” Steve suggested, laughing at himself. “I’d hate to step on your toes,” It didn’t go unnoticed to either of them how his words echoed what well could have been his last.

“Well, I frankly couldn’t care less about them,” Peggy said confidently. “You’re here, that’s all that matters, toes be damned,” All to often she had been recently plagued by teary eyes. She would blame them this time on the bright lights, if he asked, but she imagined he had the tact not to. Instead, Steve pressed her hand into his and held it tightly, a soft smile on his face. They were smiling an awful lot, weren’t they? Peggy imagined they looked like a right pair of fools, but it didn’t bother her in the least.

The next song was significantly slower, and Peggy wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

“I think you’ll find I’m a hopeless case,” He warned as they headed out onto the floor. She couldn’t have cared less.

When they were surrounded by other couples, all of whom seemed intent on minding their own business, Peggy turned to him, offering her other hand and stepping in closer.

“You can follow my lead,” She assured him, making slight adjustments to her posture before looking at him expectantly. “Now, put your hand on my waist,” Steve looked stunned by the very notion, and remained unresponsive to the command. There was no small amount of panic in his eyes. “Steve, put your hand on my waist,” Peggy was beginning to wonder if she was going to have to take his hand and put it there herself when she felt it press against her side. It was a bit higher than usual, though she supposed Steve was trying to be respectful of her boundaries. Sweet, but unnecessary. If he wasn’t going to ravish her one of these day she was certainly going to ravish him.

Steve proved to be a fast learner, as expected, and despite his initial reluctance he had turned into her, angling himself to allow for as little a space as possible between them. He even leaned his head closer to her own, crowding her. It caused her heart to beat that little bit faster, her breaths to shorten just a tad, her skin to tingle pleasantly. Peggy did not question why she enjoyed it so much, she was revelling in his overwhelming presence, something she was inclined to describe as intoxicating in light of his proximity. It was just good to be near him, to feel the weight of him, the firm muscle of his shoulder beneath her fingertips. He smelt good too. The overall effect, his closeness, his touch, was dizzying.

Peggy was spared having her thoughts progress further into a more carnal category by the change of song, this time to a fast number that would have had the most removed of people tapping their toes along with the beat. Steve stilled instantly.

“Isn’t it a bit ambitious?” He asked in response to Peggy’s gentle tug on his hand.  
“Tell me, Captain,” She grinned, eyes sparkling, “When have you ever been cautious?” Steve couldn’t argue with that.

Steve wasn’t so flawless a student when it came to a more upbeat tempo, but it hardly mattered. They were spinning and laughing and neither of them could have cared less if he was getting all the steps wrong. He only stepped on Peggy’s toes twice, which equated to a victory for all parties involved. After three more dances she had to pull him off to the side, face flushed and chest heaving in order to catch her breath.

“Well, that was rigorous,” She commented with a laugh, and he agreed, though Peggy noted not a hair on his head was out of place. She was fit, she had to be as a S.S.R agent, but even during her peak physical prime in the war she couldn’t have competed with a super soldier’s endurance. Although, she imagined she’d be a fair match in a fight. Peggy couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything she could do that might actually exhaust him. It was a glorious thing to think of.

“Should we wait it out?” Steve offered, nodding back to the dance floor.

“Why don’t you go and ask the band to play something slow and I’ll wait here?” Peggy thought perhaps she saw him glance down at her chest, only for a moment so she could not be sure. She paid him in kind by very carefully observing his rear as he walked across the room. Still as wonderful as ever, she was pleased to say.

Peggy wasn’t offended by his attention, she realised with a degree of surprise. She had been with a number of dates that had acted the same, and mostly worse, and they had promptly received a dressing down for their behaviour in the form of a sharp glare or a serious tongue lashing. No, Steve did not inspire the same outrage in her. In fact, Peggy was reluctant to say that she rather enjoyed it, knowing that he liked what he saw. The feeling was delightfully mutual, after all.

Steve returned after a moment.

“I think they recognised me,” He said. Peggy agreed, considering how the bandleader was staring at them from the stand, wide eyed and mouth agape. “They’ll play a slow one after this,”

The next time it was Steve that lead her out onto the dance floor, and Peggy sunk into an embrace that was becoming increasingly familiar with a sigh. His fingers were clutching onto hers, unwilling to let go and he was as close as ever. Steve couldn’t have said how many songs had passed if his life depended on it. He was too mesmerised by the woman in his arms.

“Peg, you know what I want to say,” He murmured softly. His lips were inches away from her ear and Peggy inadvertently shuddered, surprised by the deep tone in his voice. “I just, I don’t want this to be moving too fast for you,” He swallowed thickly.

“Steve, please,” She knew what he was going to say. The intimacy of dancing cheek to cheek, their warmths intertwining. His feelings were clear, as were hers she hoped. Surely there was no doubt of how she felt after everything she had done?

Steve was fully aware that considering how little time they had spent together outside the constrains of war and professionalism and the strength of his feelings that he was way in over this head. He had been since the day he met her, absolutely head over heels in love with her. He’d liked dames before, admired their personalities from afar as the interest was very rarely reciprocated, but the feeling in his gut he felt when she punched out Hodge was different from all that. Then, in the car on the way to the Brooklyn facility, when it became clear that they could fully understand one another, that their shared experiences were far more than they could have predicted, well, maybe he had thought for a moment that she might just be that ‘right partner’ he’d be waiting for. Her faith in him, the red dress, the hurt he felt when those bullets ricocheted off his shield, they all led to something. By the time she kissed him on the flight deck there was no doubt about it. He was in love with Peggy Carter, and had been for sometime. Maybe forever. That romantic side of him was inclined to think that he’d been in love with her since the day God put him on earth.

Of course, what they had shared together was made up of only snippets in time, spread months apart over years of the war. It wasn’t exactly a solid basis for a confession of love, even if he wanted to get down on his knees and ask her to spend the rest of her life with him there and then. He needed to go slow, do this right, for her. 

“I know it’s only been-” Surely not. Surely he couldn’t be suggesting that it was too early on in the piece? They had been dancing around each other for years, barely flirting, and when they were finally, properly dancing he was going to say that he knew it wasn’t the right time? Peggy interrupted him before he could finish the sentence.

“It’s been years,” Her words came out a hushed whisper, and she leaned closer into him. It was their first date, but she had loved him since the moment he jumped on that grenade. She loved him with all her heart and soul.

“Yes,” Steve laughed, “Yes it has,” She loved his laugh, but she adored it more when he laughed against her neck. “Peggy, I love you,” He loved her more than anything.

“I love you too, my darling” The song was slowing down, fading away and the couples around them were pulling apart. Peggy pulled away, only in order to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. Her lips were warm and soft against his skin, and Steve wanted to prolong it for as a long as possible. When she did eventually move away another song had begun, and they went back to swaying softly, moving as one. Steve wanted them to stay that way forever, dancing as the word floated by and totally engrossed in one another. There was no sorrow, no heartbreak and death in that little universe they had created between them, there was only the two of them and their love for one another.

Peggy found herself smiling uncontrollably as they danced, drinking in every feature of him. Every detail, every movement reaffirmed her sentiments. Yes, she was in love with Steve Rogers, irretrievably and irreversibly in love. Every aspect of his brought a warm sensation to her chest, her corporeal restraints unexpectedly unable to contain her expanding heart. She loved every part about him, and so every single part of him had the same maddening affect on her. She felt so secure in his arms, and nothing had felt so right to Steve as to hold her.

* * *

If anyone had asked Peggy what time they left the Stork Club she wouldn’t have had a clue. Most likely beyond a respectable hour, but only just. Steve was very much trying to do everything right, it seemed, even walking her home despite it being decidedly out of the way. So they walked, arm in arm on a hot summer night in the light of street lamps, each basking in the company of the other.

“I need a walk,” He insisted, “I’m going to go stir crazy cooped up with Dugan all day,”

“I thought you were the one getting on his nerves?”

“Both,” Steve laughed, “At least I had this to look forward to. Was it alright?”

“I think my sentiments are quite clear,” She said, but he still looked on expectantly. “I thoroughly enjoyed myself, Steve, thank you,” He was smiling again and Peggy was glad to see it. “I suspect you just wanted to hear that,” She teased.

“A little,” Peggy laughed and leaned further into him. “I meant what I said, earlier. I love you, Peggy,” Steve didn’t know why he felt that need to say it again, but it felt nice to let her know.

“My darling,” She sighed, positively cuddling his arm by then.

All too soon they reached her building. They remained clinging to each other right until they stood on the stoop outside.

“Would it be rude to ask if we had to end this now?” Steve watched her lips curl into a tantalising curve and he realised with a blush the connotations of his words. “I don’t think I’m ready to say good bye, is all,”

“In that case, you are being a perfect gentleman,” Peggy said. “But there’s a strict prohibition on men here and I’m not going to walk across town to have Dugan chaperone us,” Steve nodded, understanding, and was taken aback by the quick kiss she gave him.

“What was that for?” He asked, his mind hard at work memorising the brief sensation of her lips on his.

“Coming home,” She looked at him with such trust, such affection it made his heart burst to see it.

“Peg, we’ll do this again sometime won’t we?” Steve needed to check, to make sure this would happen again.

“No, Steve, I have confessed my love for you and now want nothing to do with you,” Peggy grinned. “Why must it be sometime? Are you free next week?”

“I’m free whenever you want me,” Was his eager reply. “Good night, then, Peggy,” His eyes briefly flickered to her lips, but he thought better of it at the last minute. Peggy would not have any of that.

She absentmindedly wondered if they might reach the stage in their relationship that she wouldn’t need to violently grab him before kissing him, but Peggy was willing to wait. Steve would become more confident over time. She just needed to kiss him more often, preferably like the way she was kissing him then. He was very compliant, kissing her back with as much force as she offered, their lips bruising each others. Peggy teased her tongue across his lips, making Steve’s head spin and she let out a small moan. He pulled away instead of taking the hint, a knowing smile on his face. He could tease as well.

“Steve,” Peggy breathed, failing to conceal an actual giggle. She couldn’t remember the last time she giggled. Years and years ago, she imagined. “Good night, my darling,”

Steve walked away with the sound of her voice in his head. He loved the way she said his name, but he decided he infinitely preferred ‘my darling’. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful for all the love and support I am receiving. Your kudos and comments mean the world to me and the fact that this fic has more than 1000 views and isn't even half way done is so great! Thank you all :)


	8. A Joint Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has something to tell Peggy. Later, so does Thompson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The musical Angie is practicing for is Annie Get Your Gun, which was released on Broadway in 1946. I just wanted to throw it in tbh, not sure why :).

“Y’know, I’m offended,” Morita said, fixing Steve with a disappointed look. “Really. It shouldn’t even be a question, Cap,”

“I concur,” Falsworth chimed in, “Truly wounded, I’m afraid,” His arms were crossed in front of his chest, taking the stance of a scolding mother as he looked down at Steve where he sat in an armchair. 

“Aw give him a break, guys,” Gabe’s voice came from across the room, where he was shaking his head. “We took time off before we went back in, remember? He hasn’t even had that,”

“Come on, Cap,” Morita repeated, “It’ll be like the good old days, eh?” Except ‘the good old days’ were barely a month ago from Steve’s perspective. 

Dugan had caught Steve up on the finer details of what happened to the unit following the Valkyrie. apparently as a way of enticing him to continue his work with the S.S.R. From what Steve had gathered the team had never been formally disbanded, but as everyone took individual leaves of absence they had never all worked together since the end of the war. When it became clear that it would take more than a few tidbits of information to twist his arm, Dum Dum had brought out the big guns; Jim, Monty, Gabe and Frenchie. Although, Dernier seemed a lot more interested in the good French wine Howard had stocked the place with than in goading Steve into submission. Steve’s worse fear, however, was that he’d be introduced to the new members of the team, who from all accounts were eager to meet him, but he knew he was not safe from that option. There was no doubt that Dugan was willing to employ all manner of coercive tactics to get his way.

“I think you’re all forgetting the man almost died,” Gabe continued, ignoring Morita’s attempt at persuasion. “Cap, we’d love to have you back,” He said earnestly, “but don’t let these fools convince you that you haven’t earned some down time,” Steve had served his country well enough, had almost died for it, he didn’t owe anyone anything anymore, forget duty.

“I never suggested he didn’t deserve down time,” Falsworth frowned. He glared at Gabe for good measure, before adjusting his focus to Steve. “I merely believe that civilian life will get too dull for you. I can’t stand it, and neither can half the people we worked with during the war,”

“I guess the goal is to find something that won’t bore me,” Steve said, sighing. A small part of him wondered whether that was why Peggy never left the S.S.R, but a much larger part of his conscious was dedicated to the worry over possible career choices. Going back to the Howlies seemed like the easiest of options, but he needed to know it was the right one. Besides, it certainly wasn’t what he had planned on doing for the rest of his life. His dreams had always been far more, well, mundane, civilian, quaint.

“It’s not like you need to make the decision right away,” Dugan interjected, sensing that his plans were going sour with all the nagging. “They’ll be plenty of adventures in the future,”

“Yeah, relax figure out what you what you want to do, you’ll come back,” Morita said with confidence, earning a chastising “Jim!” from Gabe. “What?! It’s the truth!” Steve chuckled despite himself, before Dernier slung an arm over his shoulder.

“Enjoy your life first,” He advised, his accent emphasised as he was half way through chewing on something that may have been considered cheese at some point. Steve vaguely remembered Gabe’s excitement at finding some fancy cheese in the kitchen, part of Howard’s endless supply of expensive things for expensive tastes. “You have a lot to live for, Captain. You have everything the world can offer, you have us and-”

“Peggy sure is something, too,” Morita added with a sly grin that confirmed to everyone he knew that was what Dernier was about to say.

“You Americans think that is a good enough description?” Dernier huffed, “She’s a gorgeous woman and your compliments are so weak!” Steve could agree with that. He would shower her with compliments all day if he didn’t think they paled in comparison to her. 

“Such a swell girl, can’t think why’d she be in love with a big ol’ lump like you,” Gabe said. Steve was used to the ribbing, every single time the team contacted their S.S.R liaison he’d endure endless jokes and teasing about the stunning Agent Carter and how desperately in love with her he was (“Like a puppy dog,” Dernier had observed). What he wasn’t used to was hearing that his feelings were reciprocated. Their date, their confessions, their kisses - particularly their kisses - had preoccupied well after he woke up Sunday morning with a stupid grin on his face that Dum Dum had mocked over breakfast. The second he downed his coffee he was on the line, listening to Peggy’s beautiful, if a little tired, voice. They had set a date for Friday, as she had work to catch up on, even though Steve desperately wanted to see her that day, if only to tell her he loved her and to hear her say it back.

“Boys, I think something’s happened,” Dugan said, noticing the same stupid grin that was on his face then. “Care to share, Cap?”

“No,” Steve laughed.

“It’s none of your bloody business what happens between him and his best girl, you twit!” Falsworth said, before turning to Steve. “She is your best girl, right Cap?”

“Shove off, Monty,”

“Aw, fellas, look he’s blushing!” Morita cackled, leading to another round of jokes at Steve’s expense, before he rightfully brought up embarrassing incidents to shame them all. Of course, the howling started up again when they found out that he couldn’t come out with them that night because he was taking Peggy out for dinner. The conversation descended into a cycle of mockery, and then for some reason cheese, then Howard Stark’s cheese. By the time they all left, Steve was still undecided as to whether or not he wanted to get back into the field, but he knew for one thing that he’d spent as much time as he could with the pile of idiots he called friends. 

* * *

“A musical?” Peggy frowned, looking up at Angie with a confused smile. “I thought you were more interested in traditional theatre,” Last she’d heard her friend had been considering taking a generous offer - “They’re begging me, English, really!” - to star as Nora in a rendition of Ibsen’s A Doll’s House, a role she had previously auditioned for and been rejected from. 

“Oh I’ve done all that and more!” Angie said. “If I want to get leads in the big pictures then I need to start leading shows, and anyway, I’m doing Anthony and Cleopatra the summer after, so any of the theatre snobs that think show tunes are beneath them can’t say much,”

“I don’t think I’ve even heard you sing,” Which was an absolute lie. Angie was the sort of person who sang under her breath regardless of what she was doing, and Peggy had front row seats to it all when they lived together. What Peggy had not heard was Angie sing well.

“Well, I was hoping you’d help me learn my songs!” She beamed brightly, presenting Peggy with a monstrosity of a pile of sheet music. All Peggy read was the first songs title. 

"You can't get a man with a gun?" She frowned. 

"Well, English, we can't all be so lucky!" 

That was how a supposed social call from Angie, which Peggy had insisted she did not have time for to begin with, devolved into her listening to Angie’s voice training while she wrestled with her hair, willing the thick waves into perfect pin curls and staring at herself in the vanity. She was exhausted, the week’s events having drained her far more than she had anticipated. Monday had been a hectic nightmare on it’s own, tracking Dottie’s movements (whispers of her, in reality) and dealing with the fall out from Captain America’s return as intelligence agencies across the world began to track almost everyone involved in his recovery and treatment. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday followed similarly, until Friday found her chasing after a ghost while Thompson sauntered about the office, yelling at anyone who got in his way. The big wigs in D.C were at him day and night about ‘the commie Russian broad’ he’d supposedly let lose, and Peggy stopped trying to be sympathetic when he let his frustration out on her. Tensions were running high in the office and it did not make for a positive work environment. The only good she had in her week were the constant phone calls she and Steve had. 

They’d spent hours talking about everything and at the same time absolutely nothing, every night after work. She never thought she’d be glad of Howard installing a personal telephone in her apartments - the moment she’d moved into the place he’d near broken in and insisted on providing the same comforts she had enjoyed as his guest, as a means of apologising further for the Leviathan incidents. Now, Peggy was very thankful she had no need to loiter in the hallway rambling on the communal telephone while neighbours rolled their eyes. Peggy could not help the grin that broke on her face at the thought.

“Dinner and dancing this time ‘round, English?” Angie asked, not failing to notice the change in expression. Her lips were curved in a knowing smile as she watched Peggy in the mirror.

“Just dinner,” Simple, allowing for more talking. “Some place nice, I think,”

Peggy continued to do her makeup as Angie watched from the bed, her song lyrics forgotten in her lap, and she couldn’t help but feel that the experience felt oddly familiar. She’d prepared for her dates before the war in a similar fashion, setting her hair in perfect pin curls as she applied her thin layer of armour. The routine had altered slightly over the years, through scarcity, shortages and changing fashions as well as personal preference. She now added black lines along her eyes, emphasising them, while pigment lengthened her lashes and the rose pink she used to favour had darkened into her favourite red, but the ritual echoed a lifetime of practice that was something of a comfort. She had grown, too. She’d evolved, found herself, found her calling, found love. Peggy couldn’t tell if she had grown into herself or if she had forged her own identity in a blaze of adventure, but she was proud of how far she’d come all the same - and determined to find out where she could go.

“I’d offer to help get you in to one of them swanky places but I don't think I could get you anywhere Captain America can’t,” Angie said, interrupting Peggy’s contemplation in the mirror. “Then, of course, I’m sure Howard can get you into anywhere of course,”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Peggy laughed, “But we both would like something a bit more low-key than that,” From what she understood it was one of Steve’s old haunts. “What time is it?”

“Oh it’s…roundabout seven,” Angie reliably always wore the same wrist watch - a gift from her sister that reminded Peggy of her old one.

“I think I ought to get dressed then,” She smiled brightly, checking her reflection one more time before going in search of the dress she’d picked out. It was only a little out of date, another blue a few shades darker than the one she’d worn the Saturday before. Peggy had considered the red, but decided it wasn’t the right time, she wanted to save something at least, and the colour and cut was just as flattering. She emerged to positive reviews from her friend.

“Oh, English!” Angie sighed, clasping her hands, “You’re drop dead gorgeous,” Peggy thanked her with a smile, before moving across to the vanity in search of some finishing touch of perfume.

“I guess the transformation is the sorta thing ya’d have to kill me if ya told me about?” Angie said, noticing how Peggy’s gaze lingered on the photograph she kept there, the one of a younger and much skinner Steve. At her surprised looked, Angie rolled her eyes. “Come on, you don’t go from that to Captain America without a little somethin’ like magic,” 

“Yes, magic,” Peggy agreed, “We’ll stick with that,”

“It something straight outta the pictures, y’know,” She said, “You’re Cap’s girl,” Her laugh was one of disbelief.

“I suppose you might say that,” She allowed. Peggy was torn between loving and hating the sound of it, for all her independent sensibilities.

“Wait!” Her friend suddenly cried, with such violence that Peggy stilled her hand as it moved about her dressing table. “Like on the radio?” Peggy did roll her eyes at that. “The Captain America Adventure Program? You’re Betty Carver?”

“Never say that name or mention that programme in my presence,” Her voice was stern, with perhaps too much aggression, but nothing in the world could measure her irritation with that programme. It had been going on throughout the war years, imitating Steve’s exploits as Captain America, but quickly took on a life of it’s own until it was almost entirely fictitious, not unlike the comics and films that had sprung up before he’d ever seen combat. It had been yet another source of material for the commandos to tease Steve, but when Peggy came to New York after the defeat of Hydra, friendless and alone, it mocked her. She couldn’t escape the caricatures of those she’d lost, or the taunting image of the damsel in distress Betty Carver that was undoubtedly modelled on her.

All of this, of course, was incredibly enlightening for Angie. “No wonder you never liked it,” She said, nodding. They both remembered how often she’d asked for the radio to be changed in the L&L, and Angie absentmindedly thought of a time the girls at the Griffith had mentioned it one time at dinner. Peggy had been the only one to not enthusiastically gush about the adventures it had relayed about the wartime epics fighting the Japanese navy.

“It’s completely inaccurate,” She’d said dismissively, continuing to work on the meat. “He was never in the Pacific theatre,” Angie thought it might have been Carol that challenged her on the comment (“How would you know?”), and it was yet another incident that led her to believe that ‘English’ was more than she claimed to be.

“Now, should we head down?” Peggy asked, changing the subject, the scent of roses dabbed on her skin.

“It’s still only five to seven,” Angie replied, checking her wristwatch again.

“I expect he’s early,” And Peggy was right, Steve was standing by the front door to the building and their eyes locked on each others as soon as she stepped out of the elevator.

He greeted her with that gentle smile of his, happy and shy, and the exhaustion, the stress and frustration she felt melted away. Her steps grew lighter, her face brighter, the closer she got to him and Peggy thought that it was the very definition of love.

* * *

 Their second date was decidedly less hectic than their first, though no less wonderful. A nice dinner, which Steve insisted he pay for, and then a walk through the neighbourhood. He still pointed out to her all the various places he’d been beaten up, and Peggy couldn’t help but laugh for the casual way he did it. She’d thought he had something against running away, and after seeing him in combat she knew it was indeed the case, Steve Rogers never admitted defeat no matter what.

He was at ease, surrounded by the fixtures of the life he knew before, and Peggy enjoyed watching him as they walked. Steve was animated as he told her about the neighbourhood, that he and Bucky used to run home after school through that alley and he’d sell papers when he was little on that corner and she listened amiably. She was just glad that they had the opportunity to do this, to stroll around aimlessly and talk about their memories of the lives they led before they met. Peggy hoped one day she could do that too, that they’d wind up back in London in happier times and she could show him her old haunts, maybe introduce him to her parents. 

“I had a talk with Phillips, earlier on before he left for Washington,” Steve said as they turned the corner onto another block. “About what I’m going to do, now that the war’s over,”

“Oh?” She remembered well the career choices she had to make, choosing between countries and vocations. It wasn’t her preferred position to be in.

“He offered to have me put back into the S.S.R, leading my own unit, the Howlies, probably,” He told her. Peggy did not fail to notice that his hands were stuck deep in his pockets and his head was bowed. He was nervous.

“You didn’t take it?” Steve couldn’t read too much into her tone. She didn’t sound disappointed or angry, there wasn’t anything especially alarming to analyse, but he couldn’t be sure. He just hoped she’d like what he had to say. 

“Uh, no, no I didn’t,” Steve said. “It’s just not what I was hoping to do forever, y’know? I was in art school before the war, I guess I kinda wanted to do somethin’ with it after and, ugh…” He sighed, not really sure how to continue. “I don’t know exactly what I’d do, and it probably wouldn’t be very much, but it’s important to me,”

“You have a passion,” Peggy nodded knowingly, “And a talent, from what I saw,” Steve struggled not to blush at that. “You should do what you want, Steve,”

“I was hoping you’d say something like that,” He grinned, before extending his hand. “Um, I was hoping I could show you something,” He led her only a block or two until they stopped outside a rather austere, formal looking building. Peggy could barely read the faint, faded lettering on a plaque that read _Auburndale Art School, Brooklyn._

“I signed up for a semester of art classes with the backpay I was owed. I wanted you to be the first to know,” Steve said, relieved for the secret to be out. “So, wha’dya think?” 

“I think it’s marvellous, darling,” Peggy smiled, squeezing the hand she was still holding.

“I don’t know if I’ll come back to the S.S.R. The guys want me to, but I haven’t figured it out yet,” He met her eyes, and struggled to get his next words out when he so desperately wanted to kiss her. “I just know that this is what I want to do, in the long run,”

“I’m happy for you, truly,” She said,“And I’m glad you told me,”

“I guess I figured that anything I do in the future you should know about,” Steve wasn’t sure if it was too fast, but it was how he felt. It was how he’d felt for years. “I want my future to be yours too, Peg,” He guessed she understood his meaning, a look of realisation moved across her face and then she was nodding, smiling and Steve gave in. He leaned down enough to brush his lips against hers, gently pulling her closer and when they broke apart they both had ridiculous smiles on their faces.

“Walk me home?” Peggy asked, grinning, “Before we further scandalise the pigeons?” 

“I think the pigeons could stand a little more scandal,” He joked, earning a pleased look from her as he leaned in for another kiss. They didn’t get home for quite a while.

* * *

Peggy woke up at 5 o’clock Saturday morning to a pounding on her door. She hastily tied her robe before walking through the still dark apartment, thinking that whoever it was behind the door deserved to be knocked to the ground for being so inconsiderate. Whoever she thought it was, it was not someone she could have anticipated. No, Peggy was certain she would never have anticipated a bleary eyed and borderline manic Jack Thompson on her doorstep in the early morning.  

“Carter, they’ve found her,” He said as Peggy took stock of the disheveled state he was in. She didn’t need to be told who, there was only one person it could be. What she couldn’t tell was if he was more panicked or relived at the prospect. Most likely both.

“Where?”

“She’s in New York, we’ve traced a contact of hers to an apartment in Queens,” He was still puffing from the run up the stairs. “Carter, we need you on the team. _I_ need you on the team,” Peggy nodded, while Thompson looked at her expectantly. "What are you waiting for? Go get your gun," 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think, I love comments! :)


	9. Close Scrapes and Bullet Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peggy has a confrontation with our favourite Russian spy* and comes out a little worse for wear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Favourite Russian spy title really depends on whether or not Natasha's alive I am not gonna lie. 
> 
> Bonus chapter two days ahead! Just because I may not have as much time as I'd like for writing in the next few weeks so I thought I'd put this up in advance. Also, I'm upping the rating with this chapter for canon typical violence and then the possibly less than innocent things that may occur in future chapters :) Hope you enjoy!

Peggy had never intended to find herself on the floor of an enemy facility, bleeding out and staring down the barrel of a gun. At least not again. Twice in two years was really too much.

It wasn’t as though getting shot was particularly uncommon in her line of work. It was rare to not have some scar, limps or bullet holes in the offices of the S.S.R, and it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d been shot. Peggy was, however, unaccustomed to being left to die. Her colleagues had been engaged by other operatives, and no noise of them travelled down the metal halls to her. Of course, she knew she couldn’t rely fully on her senses anymore, considering the sticky warmth of the pool of her own blood that soaked her back. Everything was growing fuzzier, the world condensing until it was just her. Just her and the smell of iron. Oh, and the gun. The gun pointed right at her face. Peggy, blood and the gun.

Everyone seemed to take the lead from her, as the resident expert on Dottie Underwood, and so the hunt only began in earnest when she entered the Bell Tower office. At half past five on a Saturday morning it was abuzz with life and Peggy thought that every single agent had been called in. The quiet of the briefing room was a pleasant contrast to the noise of hard soled feet stomping on wood floors and the hum of excited voices in the bullpen. Inside, Thompson, Ramirez, Fisher and Miller all looked to her expectantly, to the point that Peggy would have thought one of them was going to ask for coffee if she didn’t already see the cups on the table.

“Shall we begin, gentleman?” She asked, and Thompson stood with a start. Peggy couldn’t remember when exactly she lost sight of him in the rush to get to the office, but she presumed he must have run to get there with time to spare.

“Uh, yes,” He said, standing to point at the presentation board he’d compiled at God knows what time in the morning. “At approximately 22:00 last night a Moscow informant made contact with the official New York office concerning the Underwood case. They have located a Leviathan operative, Sergei Lenkov, and traced him to an apartment in Queens. He is a known associate of Underwood, real name Aleksandra Pavlova, and according to surveillance,” Thompson threw a file overflowing with photographs onto the table, “We have reason to believe that she may be there,” 

The photographs were what looked like weeks worth of surveillance, showing Dottie moving up and down a single street that Peggy assumed was where the apartment was situated. There was an array of different shots and angles, so she was a little confused as to why she expected more variety - but Peggy had learnt to trust her instincts as much as reason, and she knew something was off. Dottie was wearing any number of different outfits in the photographs, but her hair was the same every single time. She was unchanged since their confrontation in the garage, the same blonde hair, the same blue eyes. Even down to the teeth.

“She hasn’t made any effort to change her appearance,” She said, looking across the table to Thompson. “She’s not hiding,” There was no doubt that Dottie could disappear if she wanted to. 

“Then she’ll be the easier to find,” Miller muttered.

“Agent Flynn has given us 48 hours to locate and detain her. If we do not follow through, the case defaults to the main NY office, understood? This is our last chance, men,” Thompson gave Peggy an uneasy glance, “Agents,”

“What’s our move, then?” Fisher asked, sitting up to examine the briefing notes no one else would make the time to read.

“I’ve assigned Dawson’s set to following the movements of Leskov’s associates, Ryan and his team are sifting through the intelligence our Moscow correspondents have given us on them and we will be bringing in Lenkov and Underwood. Or Pavlova, whoever she is,”

Unlike the last time Peggy worked in a team with Thompson and Ramirez in pursuit of Leviathan, there was no questioning her right to be there. If anyone could get to Dottie it was her, and they all knew it.

“I’ve been told that we need to be aware that it is unclear whether or not Underwood is acting as a Leviathan operative, and by extension an agent of the Soviet regime,” Thompson’s distaste for the orders from Agent Flynn were obvious, “So, let’s not kill her unless absolutely necessary, alright? Saves us all a whole lotta paperwork,”

* * *

There were many unexpected occurrences that day. Getting shot was definitely one of them, but in contrast finding an entire room dedicated to her was something of a novelty for Peggy. Her work during and after the war had led her to all sorts of places, the hide-outs of spies were a common staple in her travels, but the Lenkov apartment was a unique experience entirely. It seemed unassuming at first, typical city apartment - a tad upscale, in fact - that looked thoroughly lived in. They might have missed the room altogether if the door hadn’t been open. 

Their eyes on the building (Fisher in a trench coat, which had prompted Peggy to roll her eyes) had confirmed that the targets were inside at approximately 11 o’clock, and so the team stormed the building. When the occupants were unresponsive, the door to the then empty apartment was kicked in. Hoping that they had only just fled, Ramirez and Peggy were sent through a third floor window and into a back alley to try head them off. They proceeded to literally chase shadows for a block, before in became apparent that they were not chasing two people, but one, and it was in fact a rather stout old man that did not look anything like either of the Russian spies they were hunting. When asked for an explanation as to why he was running, the man explained that they had startled him and he didn’t like to be chased. He demanded an apology before Peggy and Ramirez mutually agreed that no mention of the blunder was to be made in their reports or to Thompson, and the agents returned to the apartment feeling decidedly humiliated. 

“Carter, I think you should take a look at this,” Thompson said when he caught sight of them walking up the stairs. Inside a windowless spare bedroom, Miller had discovered the corpse of one Sergei Lenkov, killed by a clean bullet to the head. Methodical, execution style, and the death had apparently occurred on sight in light of the blood and brains that was smeared across the wall. That was when Peggy realised that the walls were lined with maps and photographs. Photographs of her. Photographs of her walking to and from work, to and from the L&L, to and from her home. It was a shrine to her, to her life, and it was terrifying.

“Crickey O’Reilly,” The words flitted out of her mouth without a second thought, and were barely above a whisper.

“Well, if that’s not uncomfortable,” Peggy jumped a little and turned her head slightly to see that Ramirez had followed her inside.

“That’s where I live,” She murmured, brushing her hands over the paper pinned to the wall. Her exact address was there for all to see, complete with photos of her building and the windows into her apartment. 

“You might want to change that,” Fisher advised, still looming over the dead body in the middle of the floor. _Breathe, Peggy,_ she told herself. _Breathe and think_.

If the surveillance of Dottie had been thorough, then Peggy didn’t know quite what to make of the compilation on the wall that showed her day to day life for what must have been months. The sheer amount of it was overwhelming. And then, something fell in the pit of her stomach when Peggy recognised herself, walking down a street the night she’d gone to the Stork Club. Steve was not in the shot, but whoever took the pictures - undoubtedly Dottie - must have seen him. A quick search across the wall ended when she found photos of her getting into Howard Stark’s car, Jarvis politely holding the door for her. They’d been following her since July, at least, and they must have tracked her to New Jersey. A snapshot of the outside of Camp Leigh confirmed her suspicions. There was no way of knowing how much information had been collected on Project Rebirth, or Steve. Steve. Peggy realised with a start that they must know where he was. Following her meant that they could easily trace him. Her hand moved, unconsciously, to a photograph of them together. Only half of his body was in the photo, she was clearly the focus of the surveillance, but that knowledge did nothing to calm her.

“We need to call in the New York office,” She said at last, turning to Thompson. “And D.C as well, Directer Phillips needs to know about this,”

“That you have an admirer?”

“That an S.S.R agent was followed while working on a highly confidential case,” Peggy bit back without a second thought. “And that intelligence on a project integral to national security may be threatened,” Thompson only raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.

“Alright. Still gotta take a look ‘round, though,” 

The ‘look around’ comprised mostly of the agents sifting through the enormous piles of paper on a work desk nearby, which all simultaneously seemed both vitally important and absolutely useless. Peggy expected they didn’t have the clearance for more than half the information they were sifting through, and although the Soviet secrets were incredibly intriguing none of them pertained to the location of Dottie Underwood. The fact that not small amount of the blood splatter had reached the otherwise pristine documentsOr why she murdered her accomplice. The reasoning behind the hole in Lenkov’s head was left unclear as the team’s focus was on more pressing matters.

“I didn’t think the Soviets would shell out so much for just some operative’s living space,” Miller remarked after a while, as though he thought it was the perfect time to make small talk. “You could fit a whole family in here if you wanted to and it’s prime real estate. Probably sell fast,” 

“Not if they don’t get the blood stains off the wallpaper,” Ramirez answered darkly.

“If you two are done assessing the property value, this might actually help us,” Thompson groused, gesturing wildly to the table full of various documents and files. “This here says something about a-”

“A warehouse?” Peggy suggested, holding up a corresponding sheet of paper. “What would Leviathan need a storage facility for?”

“Stark lost track of any more gadgets or gizmos?” He offered, bitter sarcasm twisting his face ever so slightly. Peggy hoped to God that wasn’t the case.

* * *

“Agent Flynn has recommended you be pulled from the field,” Thompson said, just as they stepped out of the car. The trio of agents beside her were appropriately affronted, but Peggy barely balked at the news. She had grown accustomed to men thinking she needed to be kept at a desk - or better yet at home - through all her working life. It was not a surprise. “He says you’re a security threat and have already proved to be severely incompetent,”

After summoning the medical staff to take care of the body, the team had returned to the office anxious to investigate their lead, but Thompson had dutifully notified his supervising officers of the developments in the case. Senior Agent Flynn, in particular, had always been a thorn in Peggy’s side before and after she’d be transferred to work under Dooley in the Bell Tower’s division. Phillips, she understood, had been informed and that the New York office was monitoring the situation on his behalf. They had naturally been intrigued with the idea that it was a failing of Agent Carter’s which had jeopardised one of their most important cases. She knew better than to ask if they were going to do anything to address the obvious threat that was posed to Steve. She had to merely trust that they had.

“Then why am I on a stakeout and not clearing my desk?” He might have been offering Dottie has her last chance to redeem herself, but Peggy doubted he was that generous. She wondered if it brought him much satisfaction, being handed her demise on a silver plate. Probably, but she was determined to put up a fight.

“Because I think you’re our only chance of catching her,” Thompson said, with a sincerity she had never thought him capable of. They had reached an understanding, working together and co-existing, but she had never had much faith in him and the feeling was mutual.

“Right, so you need my help,” Without her, he’d never catch Dottie and face unparalleled scrutiny and judgement. He was unlikely to be demoted, that wasn’t the S.S.R’s style. Once you were a chief you were a chief, but Thompson would likely languish in the position, without any promotion or acknowledgement until he quit out of sheer frustration decades down the line. He needed a win, and he needed Peggy to get it. She left it unsaid that he refused back up from other offices and insisted she pair with him so that when they brought Dottie in he could get the target off his back and all the glory a Leviathan operative heralded. Out of courtesy and in the interests of the mission, if nothing else. It was best not to undermine him in front of her colleagues and his men.

“Take the compliment, Marge,”

“Usually we’re a bit more armed than this,” Fisher commented, breaking the silence that had ensued. Ramirez grunted his agreement as they all looked on towards the warehouse. It was intimidating in the early evening dusk, looming overhead like a forgotten giant of steel and dirt.

“We’re not storming the building,” Thompson pointed out. “It’s not a raid,” Just a quick in and out, to ascertain it’s importance. If it was empty, or when it was clear that there was no materials inside that posed any concern, they would leave and report back to Agent Flynn, to confirm that the threat was nonexistent.

Still, Peggy could tell from the way Miller and Ramirez cautiously approached the facility that they too shared Fisher’s doubts, and it made her nervous despite herself. She’d found that in the field it was best to trust your instincts, and her slight trepidation was magnified by the uncertainty of her companions. After Thompson weakly tried the chains on the near rotting backdoors, they found an entrance through a side door that must have once been used by supervisors of foreman. A swift kick to a pane of glass created a convenient entry point, and they filed into the dark corridor, all unconsciously holding their breaths. The surprise they were expecting didn’t come, and one by one they exhaled as they assessed the hallway, the flashlight Fisher had insisted on bringing coming in handy sooner than anyone thought probable.

Peggy’s eyes easily brushed over the dank surroundings, rusty metal beams covered in unidentifiable substances that all seemed terribly unhygienic mirroring a slick stone floor. She was about to suggest they try one of the doors when the light fell on a distant and sinister silhouette. Before anyone had registered what had happened the figure fled, heavy booted footsteps echoing on the stone as the surprised agents hurried after him in a flurry of activity. The chase led them out of the low ceilinged corridor and into the enormous and expansive storage space, filled with lines and lines of crates that reached to the high vaulted ceiling, and they were all plunged into complete darkness. Disorientated in the black that surrounded them, it was all they could do not to call out for each other. Peggy was not even relieved when the lights did flicker on, instead it filled her with dread. It meant that someone was controlling the power, and it wasn’t them. They were definitely not alone.

“Alright, people, split up,” Thompson directed, and she could tell that he was as nervous as she was. Something wasn’t right. They all knew it. Wordlessly, the five splintered off and moved their seperate ways. Peggy tried her best to silence the sound of her heels on the floor, at least thankful that the storage unit was drier than the corridor, and despite protocol unholstered her gun. She held it out in front of her and admonished herself for how frightened she felt. She was an agent, for crying out loud! She’d fought Nazis and Hydra, colluded with resistance groups behind enemy lines, stormed fortresses, ambushed tanks and raided garrisons under fire from heavy artillery. Ancreepy warehouse was nothing to her.

Peggy realised as she turned another corner that her lack of a partner did not help her nerves. It was such a familiar situation, and she had grown used to Jarvis’s steady presence, even if it had been an often infuriating one. In Jarvis there was someone she could rely on, someone who would support her. Someone who would, knowing Jarvis, completely agree that the place was unnecessary strange and would not think less of her for her trepidation. It only made her more uneasy knowing that she no longer had the luxury of someone having her back.

Peggy abruptly reunited with Ramirez, and the pair hastily assisted a sprinting Thompson as he and Fisher charged at the man they were following, struggling to weave through the aisles of crates and boxes. Miller met them as the team hit a literal wall, disorientated and confused. There was no sign of the suspicious man. The back of her neck began to tingle as Peggy took stock of the situation. They were in an actual dead end, surrounded by a maze of crates which they had no hope of getting out in a timely fashion, their vision was impaired due to how poorly lit everything was and the wood of boxes had an uncanny way of swallowing noise that sat her teeth on edge.

“It’s a trap,” Peggy realised aloud, feeling panic start to rise inside of her. All her instincts had been warning her, telling her to run. In hindsight, she should have listened.

“Of course it’s a trap,” A feminine voice answered from the shadows, and a familiar outline appeared a few steps away from her. She had been lying in wait, watching it all unfold and as if on cue, ten shadows appeared as if from thin air, encompassing the team. Five guns were suddenly trained on her, and she remained unaffected, moving further into the light to reveal her face.

“Hello, Peggy,” Dottie said. Except, it wasn’t Dottie. Or rather, it was as close as anyone would ever get to being another Peggy Carter. There she was, perfect brown curls that mimicked her own, blood red lipstick the exact shade she favoured and coloured contacts that changed Dottie’s piercing blue eyes to the warm and striking brown Peggy saw in the mirror everyday. She had so many questions. How? Why? When? What did she want? Who was she doing this for? Peggy opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the deafening sound of a gun shot. Dottie was already in motion, however, gliding out of the way with both an elegance and force that was all her own. Then, she was moving, hurtling down another aisle.

Peggy made the mistake of turning around, recognising Thompson as the culprit, and when her eyes found Dottie again the last thing she saw was the curve of a smirk on red painted lips. Then her ten henchmen closed in. The two closest to them went for her first, men always seemed to think she was the easy target. They learnt very quickly that they were mistaken. The first, a towering man with meaty fingers, grabbed hold of her wrist before she fired her gun and Peggy threw her weight into twisting his wrist back, the sickening crack that followed soon mirrored by the sound of his nose breaking beneath her elbow. With any luck the bone had shattered and been pushed up to lodge in his brain, and the fact that he collapsed suggested she was successful. The second did not pause for a second, instead immediately spinning about to grab a hold of her hair and slam her face into crate. “Bloody Nora!” seemed an entirely insufficient curse, but that thought was ended when Peggy brought down the butt of her pistol into his temple. She didn’t look back to check how her colleagues were doing, all clearly engaged in combat, they could handle themselves and she needed to get to Dottie before she was lost her once again.

The aisle she had fled down met a lightless corridor and Peggy chastised herself for throwing herself into it without a second thought, but soon her eyes adjusted. As she ran Peggy registered the familiar surge of adrenaline through her veins. All her training had taught her to suppress the urges it created, to seize up, to run and hide in a state of panic, but it still posed a threat. Every sound that reached her ears sent her nerves into a state of uproar, and when she was forced to slow her pace Peggy herself wasn’t sure if her heaving lungs and beating heart were due to the activity or the agitation she felt.

It was at that moment, at her first show of weakness, that Dottie emerged from the shadows. Or rather, the slightly darker shadows than the ones Peggy was standing in. She moved so silently that Peggy wasn’t even aware she was there until she felt a kick to the very base of her spine, sending her flying forward into a wall. Her hand was gripping on to what she briefly noticed was a doorframe, before her assailant shoved her through it, trapping her in the dark. In reaction, she reached blindly behind her, grabbing a fistful of whatever material Dottie was wearing and pulling it towards her, simultaneously moving her tensed forearm up to catch any flailing arms. Dottie responded in kind, knocking the gun out of her hand and aiming heavy blows to her chest. It did not worry her, of course, Peggy had thrown her out a window unarmed before, and she expertly dodged and aimed blows to mirror Dottie’s until they fell into a familiar pattern that they both relished in. The only thing missing was the sound of the Captain America Adventure Programme blasting in the background. As Peggy’s fist drove into her opponents’s jaw she couldn’t say she missed Betty Carver’s pleas for help.

It was only when Peggy gained the upper hand that Dottie drew her gun, when she was facing defeat, proving that she wasn’t invincible. She had been pinned beneath Peggy’s greater weight, and struggling to get free. In the dark, Peggy did not know the danger until there was the cool press of steel against her abdomen, below the left of her ribcage, and then the unholy sound of a gunshot rang through her ears as a searing pain pierced her side. Dottie moved out from under her in one fluid motion, before standing astride her. As if on cue, the lights came on, but it changed nothing. If the S.S.R team had fought off the Leviathan operatives there was no way of knowing where Peggy was, no hope of rescue. When they got to her, it would be too late.

Peggy always took the first few seconds after being shot to come to terms with the fact that she had just been shot. Yes, there was a bullet lodged in her body, having ripped through skin and veins, muscle and tissue to nestle somewhere within. As a result, blood was flowing out of her, which she confirmed by clumsily patting her hand over the area, sending jolts of pain through her abdomen and she collapsed, the back of her head hitting the stone floor as her mind swam in agony.

“I suppose I’ve got your attention now,” Her legs were on either side of her, her left foot inches away from the bullet wound that was beginning to weep onto the floor. Considering the violent red of her footwear Dottie was prepared to wade through blood and she was unconcerned by Peggy’s when it began to soak her toes and stain her shoes. “I’m disappointed, you know. I expected so much more from you, Peggy. It’s a pity, I thought were equals at least. I’m so sorry I was mistaken. So,” Peggy stifled a cry as Dottie moved her foot ever so slightly, so that while her heel was on the ground the sole of the shoe was resting on the open wound.“Very,” She applied pressure then, and watched as the unbreakable Agent Carter bit back a sob. “Sorry,” Tears were welling from her eyes and Dottie watched on with sick fascination as her foot came to dig into Peggy’s side. Her eyes were blazing in victory, and Peggy found she preferred staring down the barrel of the gun poised to send a bullet into her brain to seeing the sense of accomplishment evident in them.

Everything seemed very quiet, very still. If there had been a rat in a room down the hall, they would have heard it. Instead, however, there was just the sound of their ragged breaths. Peggy could feel her senses depleting, her awareness of the world around her becoming increasingly unreliable. He vision was growing fuzzier, until she could hardly focus on Dottie’s face, and she knew from the amount of warm blood she felt pooled around her that she was in trouble. She was, in all likelihood, experiencing her last moments.

Dottie grew bored of her, Peggy assumed, as she left her there, alone, with one last smug smile. She could feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks, and her heart ached knowing that her miraculous second chance was lost. Within weeks of being reunited with Steve she had gone and gotten herself killed, after he had told her that he loved her, after they had gotten their dance, but before so many other, beautiful things that could of been. In the moments before she lost consciousness, Peggy hated her own stupidity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK I LOVE YOUR COMMENTS :)


	10. Their Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve sees for himself what he's always known, Peggy is his strength and he can't live without her. At the same time, problems arise.

Steve had spent half his life in hospitals. He’d never watched someone die in a hospital, though. He’d had close calls with death, lying in an eerily sterile room feeling the life leave his body, but when his mother passed on she’d insisted on staying at home. Her reasoning had been that she would just infect more people, but it was in that moment that he realised she was dying. She didn’t want to waste the money it would cost to keep her in hospital when she was going to die anyway. Seeing Peggy there, so weakened and small, Steve felt his world collapse around him.

Steve had enjoyed a relatively normal, even tranquil, day before Howard Stark appeared on his doorstep, his press shirt drenched in blood. “It’s not mine,” He’d said, as if that would calm him. Earlier that day, Steve was called in for an urgent meeting with Agent Flynn concerning a security breach that exposed him to some dangerous Soviet agency and Stark had been generous enough to send a car for him. It was then that Steve was introduced to a Mr Jarvis, who said he was delighted to meet him given all that he’d been told by Howard and Peggy, and he accompanied him to the New York office. Steve had thought nothing of Jarvis’ very brief disappearance during the meeting until much later, when he was storming through hospital wards in search of Peggy.

Upon his arrival at the hospital Steve realised that he was at the right place because the lady at the desk had clearly been given strict instructions to avoid offering up any information, even denying that there was a patient under the name Peggy Carter, or Margaret, or Agent - he tried everything. Half an hour later she recognised him, prompting an extended telephone call with someone at the S.S.R named Rose, and then he was finally directed to one of the private rooms in a ward reserved for ballistic trauma.

Despite his panicked state, the world seemed to slow and come to a halt when a nurse opened the door to her room and he saw her. Peggy was always pale, but Steve had never seen her with the sickly pale skin she had then, her pallid complexion emphasised by dark circles underneath her closed eyes. There was a black bruise on her right cheek that had caused it to swell, and there were cuts across her face. The thin blankets did nothing to obscure the fact that there was a significant amount of padding and dressing on her abdomen, and Howard’s words really began to sink in. Peggy had been shot during a mission, had lost a lot of blood and was unconscious. The chance of her waking up were unclear.

“A bullet to the abdomen and various mild abrasions,” The nurse on hand relayed, smiling brightly despite the clinical way she spoke. “Quite a drama, but I’m sure she’ll pull through. You are?” 

“Uh, a friend,” He’d never been asked who he was in relation to Peggy before. It sounded wrong, saying he was just a friend. He’d never been her friend. He’d been one of her trainees, a soldier under her command and irreversibly in love with her. Not a friend. Still, he couldn’t exactly say anything else.

“He’s allowed to be here,” A voice accented with crisp and polite enunciation came from the doorway, and Steve turned to see Edwin Jarvis directly behind him. “The S.S.R likes to keep a tight lid on who visits their recuperating agents,” He elaborated, leaning in as though they were confidents.

“How long has she been like this?” Steve asked as the nurse cleared the room. He had half a mind to ask Jarvis to leave too, but he didn’t dislike the man and, more importantly, he needed answers. 

“Roughly 7 hours,” Was the reply. “The agents on site had just lost the last of the operatives when we found her,”

“Howard was covered in her blood,” It wasn’t a question, just a fact. He’d been soaked, and it made Steve sick to his stomach knowing that it was Peggy. It was a miracle she was still there, looking so ghostly it hurt. Almost as if she was fading, just like his mother. Steve knew he was close to tears when he brushed his fingers over her cold hand, taking it in his in an attempt to warm it. 

“Yes, he’s gone home to change. He carried her out of the warehouse and into the hospital. I waited with her until the S.S.R arrived,” Steve had seen the agents stationed in the corridor and briefly wondered at how big a mess they were in. If Peggy was under armed guard it meant that she was in danger from more than just the hole in her side.

“How long did they know there was a threat?” He’d gotten a phone call at 11 o’clock requesting, or more like demanding, his presence at the New York office, saying that Agent Flynn needed to talk to him about ‘matters of some urgency’. At noon he was told that a Soviet spy agency, called Leviathan, had been following an S.S.R agent which he had contact with and therefore they needed to anticipate an attempt on his life. In contrast to being regularly stationed behind enemy lines in France, Russia or Nazi Germany, Steve considered the danger minimal, but he did not make that known to Agent Flynn - who turned out to be exactly like Peggy’s description. eHe had been curious as to who it was that was being followed, but understood that if he was allowed to know he would have been told. Jarvis, however, felt slightly less beholden to the S.S.R’s system of classifying information and after some reconnaissance in Flynn’s office found that not only was Peggy the target of the surveillance, but was on a mission to confront a sickeningly familiar face at that very moment. Steve found out all of this during Howard’s haphazard drive to the hospital, as Stark tried his best to relay what had happened.

“They knew it was a trap a few hours beforehand,” Jarvis replied, “They’d given the office chief the go ahead on the mission after they knew Miss Underwood would be waiting for her,” Steve had heard of Dottie from Peggy’s stories about Howard’s treason mess.

“What about the guy out there?” As he walked in Steve had seen Agent Flynn down the hall, arguing with another agent that was red in the face with anger.

"Ah yes, the charming Agent Thompson, aforementioned chief. He was unaware of the threat, even part of the team that went in. Miss Carter had been separated from them, when Mr Stark and myself got there they had no idea where she was,” It was hard to picture the very posh and proper man in front of him acting with the efficiency of a spy, let alone the knight it shining armour he had proved himself to be. Stark had gallantly carried Peggy from the warehouse to the car and through the hospital, but it had been Jarvis who saved her. Wordlessly, the saviour excused himself after a while. He always understood what someone needed, and it was clear that Steve needed to be alone with Peggy. 

The nurses said they didn’t know if there was any internal bleeding or organ failure, and expected him to be consoled by the fact that there was no sign of either - yet. She was still unresponsive. She’d been like that for 12 hours. Shock, maybe, but they didn’t know. There was no way of knowing until she woke up, if she woke up. The nurses stationed on the night shift, just as they concluded their speculations amongst themselves on whether or not he was Captain America, soon learnt that, whoever he was, he did not accept that the words ‘visiting hours’ applied to him. Considering the covert nature of that specific set of private rooms, almost perpetually observed by armed men in dark suits while patients with all sorts of violent injuries recovered, they allowed it. He was grateful, but also knew that nothing short of a disaster of biblical proportions could have forced him away, and even then only for a little while.

Steve needed Bucky beside him, to tell him he was being morbid, that Carter was stronger than either of them, she’d pull through. He’d always been the rational one of them, telling him he was being dramatic or reckless, reminding him not to worry. But he’d lost Bucky, just like he’d lost his mother and his father before her. He couldn’t lose Peggy too. Steve didn’t know what he would do if he lost her. She was his last tether to the ground, the only one that understood him. He loved the boys, but it had been Peggy who had faith in him, had encouraged him when no one else had. Even Bucky had never believed in him with such conviction. Without her he didn’t know he was.

She was his strength, his everything. The night before he had been able to see his future so clearly, completely entwined with hers, and he’d wanted to shout with joy when it became clear that she wanted that shared future just as much as he did. They’d get married, buy a house, have kids… Everything he’d thought for so long to be out of reach had been so close to reality, and now it hung by a thread. In the dark hospital room, clutching onto Peggy’s hand, Steve wept for the cruelty of it all.

* * *

The first thing Peggy registered was the sharp pain in her side. In the intermediate between sleep and wakefulness it felt as though the pain itself was corroding her flesh, burning the tissue away. If she made a noise in her pain, however, it didn’t stir her companion. The second thing she registered was the hand that tightly held her own, only slightly relaxed in sleep. When Peggy forced her bleary eyes open, struggling to focus her vision, she saw Steve, his head resting on the narrow bed beside their entwined hands. Judging by the mess that was his hair, errant tufts poking out in ways that defied gravity, she thought it must have been a while. His hand was warm and she only flexed her fingers before wrapping them around it. Holding his hand evoked a quiet sort of love in her, one that was no less strong as the heart wrenching passion she felt for him, only softer, more gentle, full of comfortable silences, slow mornings and pale golden light. At the thought, Peggy briefly wondered what drugs they had put her on, pain killers had never had such an affect on her before. 

Her mistake was trying to sit up. The pain was agonising and the simple movement made her feel dizzy, body tensing up as her fresh wound protested. Steve woke up at once, looking both bewildered and relieved. 

“How long have I been out?” She asked, the bright light from the window confusing her sense of time just as much as the fact she had somehow wound up in a hospital.

“Uh, what time is it?” Steve rubbed his palm across his face in an effort to banish sleep, and Peggy unconsciously wondered if he did that every time he woke up.

“8 in the morning,” The clock on the wall behind him told her so.

“17 hours, then, or there about,” He seemed unsure himself, which made her feel marginally better. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

It gave her a headache to think about her last memories, the process of dying proving overwhelming to say the least. She remembered pain, lots of pain, and the woman that inflicted it.

“Dottie,” Peggy replied eventually, mind still foggy. “I thought I was dying,” Tears had rolled down her cheeks and met the pool of blood forming around her on the cold ground, but if they were for regret or fear she didn’t know. She’d thought she was dying and she’d thought of Steve, cried for him even. He himself appeared disturbed by the mere mention of her death.

“You went into surgery before I got here,” He said, changing the subject. “No need to worry about bullet fragments or anything like that, according to the docs,”

“Well, at least I have that,” Peggy tried to make her relief sound genuine, however it was hard to be in a good mood while being in such pain. “How long have you been here?” If she’d had the energy she might have created a way to ask it without being so direct, but just talking to him had already drained her.

“Um, I don’t really know,” He began, before meeting a withering stare. “Maybe fifteen hours? I wouldn’t know,” Peggy’s surprise must have shown on her face, as he rushed to justify himself. “I was worried, I didn’t want you to be alone,” Steve knew he couldn’t have borne to leave her, and was only thankful that she hadn’t woken up to see him in a worse state of disarray. That would have been quite the conversation starter, seeing him looking distraught with a tear stained face, a snotty nose and red, puffy eyes.

“How?” Peggy asked after a while, in hopes he might assist her in her confusion. “How did I end up here?” She could never have crawled her way to safety, she hadn’t had the strength for it, it defied all likelihood that she wasn’t dead, bled dry in the horrid, dark room.

“You need to thank Howard for that,” He said. “And Jarvis, especially Jarvis,” Peggy brightened at that.

“Jarvis?” She repeated. “Mr Jarvis saved me?”

“Yeah, he was there when Agent Flynn wanted to talk to me about Leviathan. Jarvis thought he’d ‘liberate some files’ as Howard put it, specifically some from Flynn’s office. He thought he was hiding something,” He was right. “Your team were held up when they go there, so they fought their way through the warehouse and found you. They let me know once you were in surgery,” 

“You would have wanted to be involved?” Peggy guessed. She knew him as well as she knew herself, and he was clearly irritated about being left out of the loop.

“You could have died, Peg,” If he had been with her, or even been with Howard and Jarvis when they went to rescue her, Steve could have done something about it. He could have protected her, or at least not felt so helpless. Instead, he was reduced to the sidelines, allowed only to hold her hand when the danger was gone. He had never felt so helpless before, even when he was a scrawny and frail kid he had never missed out on a fight, especially not for something important. Steve couldn’t begin to think how to explain that all, however. “You could have died,” He repeated aimlessly.

“Yes, well, I suppose I ought to check up with the nurse about that,” Peggy decided, but deep down she knew that was not the end of the discussion. His hurt was obvious, his reasoning behind it less so. Steve hurried to summon someone.

“It’s essentially a flesh wound,” Peggy was promptly informed by a bubbly young nurse, who was unnaturally cheery for her dreary surroundings. “Our worry was that internal organs were damaged, but it seems that the bleeding was the only real threat. You lost a lot of blood, so I’d take it easy for the next week or so, and there is significant muscle and tissue damage. Nothing a few good weeks on bedrest won’t cure, but you need to be careful to not do any strenuous activity,” The young woman gave a cheeky sort of knowing smile at that, glancing between Peggy and Steve. It went unnoticed by the captain, who was more focused on the discharge forms she’d been given to fill out, but Peggy couldn’t fail to miss it. Strangely enough, it bothered her more than she could say.

“Our number one concern is if you tear it open and we won’t be able to stop the bleeding,” She said, bringing Peggy back to the diagnosis. _How very cheerful_ , she thought bitterly, even though she knew it was true. She suspected if she so much as laughed the wound would reopen.

Steve busied himself filling out the forms, occasionally asking answers to questions he didn’t know and telling her to sign something, while Peggy sorted through her bag of personal belongings. They all needed to be thrown away, she quickly realised. No amount of washing would ever clean the blood out of her clothes, and she briefly panicked about what she would wear - before discovered a neatly packed, small suitcase by her bedside (evidently left by Jarvis, no one else would have had the foresight or been so thorough). Her relief made her reconsider scolding him for breaking into her apartment to retrieve them. Besides, she had more than that to be grateful to him for.

When Steve hurried of to return to files to the ward matron, Peggy used the opportunity to go into the little bathroom in the room and get dressed. She nearly swore when she saw herself in the mirror. The day before she had nearly bled out and she certainly looked it. She was paler than she’d ever see herself, and there were black bruises under her eyes that looked like she’d been punched with excellent symmetry. There were cuts and grazes on her cheeks from where she’d fallen, injuries that were mirrored on her forearms and she knew without looking that there was a serious contusion on her right calf. She looked like a shadow of herself, near battered and bruised beyond recognition. _Dottie and her goons have certainly been thorough,_ Peggy conceded with a laugh.

* * *

Something had changed in the dynamic between Peggy and Steve, which she observed very early on. His behaviour had shifted, and beyond his sincere relief at her recovery there was an apprehension, an uncertainty that she couldn’t quite but her finger on. It would have been fine, she supposed, they could have moved passed it and returned to their normal selves, had it not been for the dratted intervention of the S.S.R. Peggy’s apartment was deemed an inappropriate place of residence in the knowledge that it was known to a certain elite Russian spy who displayed distinctly homicidal tendencies. Howard kindly offered his assistance, and so upon leaving the hospital she was informed that she was to be essentially put under house arrest in the confines of Dugan and Steve’s house for her convalescence.

So, while perhaps they could have re-established some normality in their relationship had they continued as they were, the underlying tension developed into a serious distance neither of them had felt before. They lived under the same room, shared the same meals once Peggy could be trusted to get down stairs without assistance, but they were further apart than ever before. It frightened both of them more than they could say.

Peggy had been correct in her prediction. Their discussion was certainly not over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh tension.... Will Peggy and Steve resolve the conflict? Of course, they will, neither my heart nor brain can maintain angst for long, but next chapter will be full of it, as well as some other, more interesting things :)


	11. The Right Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Peggy talk it out, and have a proper reconciliation :)

“What is your problem?” Peggy finally snapped, eyes blazing as Steve turned, surprised. She had come down for a late night cup of tea to find the kitchen occupied. The occupant had heard her coming and was already making his way out the other door, in an attempt to run from her no doubt. At that moment something in the deep chambers of her patience broke with a shriek not unlike a battle cry. Peggy was officially fed up with it, with the careful routine they had set up - complete avoidance of the other. During the war they had danced around each other, but this was a different kind of dancing, a far more difficult and scary kind. 

“What?” It made her even more irritated that Steve was caught completely off guard. He was looking at her as though it was ludicrous that she had put a stop to it, this nonsense that had been going on ever since she’d stepped foot into the house.

“You’ve been so distant and distracted recently. I hardly see you and when I do we barely talk, Steve. You’re avoiding me,” _And you’re avoiding him,_ that quiet voice told her _, You’re avoiding this discussion, you’ve been avoiding it for weeks._ Two weeks, to be precise, two weeks since the bullet incident, but inner Peggy could shut up for just a little while longer.

“I’ve talked to Colonel Phillips,” Steve said slowly, stepping a little closer to where she stood by the table. “I’m taking the job with the S.S.R,”

“Uh, I,” She struggled to form a coherent sentence, taken completely off guard by his confession. Not least because it was the complete opposite of what she had been lead to believe. “I thought you said you wanted to go to art school,” Peggy said at last.

“I can do both,” He was defensive, which made her think that perhaps he was just as unsure about the decision.

“You joined the army because of the war, and the war’s over, Steve,” The look on his face told her that it was the wrong thing to say. Almost immediately his expression turned dark, and Peggy had the disconcerting feeling that she was about to see Steve Rogers actually angry.

“Not for you it isn’t,” He replied, his voice steady. She’d nearly died, for God’s sake! How could she possibly say that the war was over when she was still fighting, still taking bullets? Maybe the war had changed, but there were still battles to be fought.

“That’s different, you know it is,” Peggy bit back, sounding far sharper than she had intended.

“I’m government property, anyway!” He didn’t mean to let the anger to get the better of him, didn’t mean to raise his voice like that, but he’d been repressing so much confusion and frustration for so long he couldn’t help it. “They’ve made it very clear that I’m lucky to have even been defrosted, Peggy. You know what they were planning to do with me, right? Once the war was over?” That stopped her in her tracks.

Peggy knew exactly what the plans for the subjects of Project Rebirth had been, even before the first recruits found themselves at Camp Leigh. They’d be deployed, and then when the war was over they’d be contained in whatever way the military saw fit. They were going to base the containment facility on the abilities they observed of the first few participants, but after Hydra’s infiltration of the Brooklyn base and Erskine’s death the plans were disregarded. She hadn’t been happy with the idea to begin with - they were humans for God’s sake! - but when the anonymous super soldier had Steve’s face it had become a horrible, faded memory she had tried not to think of.

“Steve-”

“No, Peggy, it doesn’t matter if the war’s over or not, the army practically owns me,”

“You’re a war hero, Steve, they can’t bloody well do anything to you!” _Anymore_ was left hanging of her lips, and he did not fail to notice the absence of the words _Captain America_. “You can do anything you want to do! Why chose this?”

“I can help people, protect people! I don’t know why it’s such an issue, you do it everyday,” Couldn’t she see how hypocritical it was? Acting as though he had no right to take the job, when she and he both had already suffered the consequences of it. 

“I don’t do it just because I want to, Steve!” Peggy said, “It’s dangerous!” Maybe there was still that little part of her deep down inside that wanted to protect him, hide him from the world. Completely irrational, of course, there was nothing that could hurt him that she could protect him from, not anymore, but all she wanted to do was shield him. She didn’t want to lose him again.

“Well that’s already pretty clear, isn’t it?” Steve wasn’t yelling anymore. Now his voice was low, low and bitter beyond belief.

“Don’t make this about me,” She lowered her voice to match his tone, a dangerous warning for him to tread lightly.

“You could have been seriously hurt, you _were_ seriously hurt!” His frustration had turned his words into pleas. “Peg, you could’ve-”

“Don’t say it,” Her words were icy cold, an unspoken threat.

“Peggy-” He began, but she cut him off before he could start to argue.

“Don’t you dare say it!” She shouted. Her voice did not shake, but there were tears spilling out of her eyes. “You have no right to chastise me about risking my life, Steve Rogers! You died, alright? You were dead - for a year! You could have done the sensible thing and given me your co-ordinates, but you didn’t, you had to be dramatic about it,” It was inappropriate and far too painful to resent the dead, to rage at them for their recklessness and stupidity. The living, however, were acceptable targets. A years worth of anger and frustration was exploding out of Peggy in a wave of fury, and she was struggling to keep any semblance of control over it.

“I needed to do it,” Steve said lamely.

“Well, I didn’t want you to,” A small part of her found it humiliating to cry so openly, but most of Peggy couldn’t find the will in her to care. “I couldn’t have given a toss about the heroics, I wanted you,” She gave a roll of her eyes when she felt the tears streaming down her cheeks, “I wanted you alive,”

It had never mattered to her that he was a super soldier, the famed Captain America, more legend than fact. Steve Rogers had been enough for her, with his boy-like smile and charming sincerity. If he had sat on the sidelines and watched the war from afar, doing his part as a civilian duty she still would have loved. But, of course, without his blind courage and stupid bravery Steve wouldn’t have been Steve. He’d always been the little guy from Brooklyn that never knew when to quit, and noble to a fault.

“Are you ever going to forgive me for it?” Steve asked quietly. Peggy had not noticed him slowly approaching her, extending his arms ever so slightly - an invitation, not a demand. Looking up into his blue eyes, she knew the answer. She’d always known it.

“I’ll always forgive you, Steve,” She said, allowing herself to lean into his embrace. He held her gently against him, and all the anger seemed to melt away. “You wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t done it,” Peggy reaffirmed into his shirt, “I’ve always loved you for your ridiculous bravery,” She’d never tell him that she had also tried to run for the grenade at Camp Leigh all those years ago, not until much later. 

“I love you too,” He replied, and Peggy did not imagine that his hold tightened around her. “And I can’t lose you too,” Everyone he’d ever loved was dead, and he’d thank God for every day that he was allowed with Peggy Carter because of it.

“You haven’t,” She said, making a point to press her head further into his chest. “Steve, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere,” Peggy wasn’t sure if she kissed him because he need reassuring or because she did, but either way it proved effective.

They were small kisses, at first, added to by soft caresses, all so loving and innocent. Steve thought he might be able to live that way forever, languishing in the sweet feel of her lips on his, until the kisses turned heated. The fire he felt, the tingle of excitement spreading through every pore in his body, it was a hunger that demanded to be sated. The feeling was not superior, in fact he like them both equally, but the latter was most definitely the most urgent of the two, and he succumbed readily. Peggy did too. She would be the first to admit her feelings for him, in the most elegant of ways, had descended into what would be described as rampantly sexual. She loved him, yes, but Good Lord did she want him as well. Before either of them knew it, her tongue was brushing against his lips, and then it was in his mouth, toying with his own in a way that made him moan deep in his throat. Peggy felt her knees go weak at the sound, and clung onto him for dear life as her hands roamed over his shirt up and down the taut muscle of his arms and back. She, too, could not avoid vocalising her enjoyment of the sensation.

They were both breathing hard when they pulled apart, and Peggy pressed her forehead against his shoulder with a laugh. She felt so dizzy she almost thought she was dreaming when she heard the words tumble out of his mouth in a flush of energy.

“I want you to marry me, Peggy,”

“Steve…” She frowned, looking up at him.

“Please,” He said, searching her eyes for a response. “You love me and God knows I love you, I love you so much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Peggy opened her mouth to speak, before realising she had nothing to say and quickly closing it. She was utterly speechless. “And I think you want that too,” Steve continued, seeing her response. “I want you to be my wife, Peggy, and I want to be your husband. You’re the right partner for me, I knew it the moment you talked about dancing after the war,”

The words came out too fast, slurred together as he raced to at least try and communicate his feelings. He knew he’d failed, knew he’d never be able to tell her just how much he loved her, but it was her continued silence that made him the more self conscious for it. Maybe she didn’t think he was the right partner? He knew she loved him, but love was more complicated than it seemed, or at least that was what he’d been told, it had always seemed so simple when she was concerned - he was hopelessly devoted to her. Maybe she did love him, just didn’t want to marry him? Stranger things had happened, but Steve didn’t know how he could handle something like that. He’d always planned to marry her, settle down and have a family, he couldn’t see a world without that possibility. God, why wasn't she talking? Could she say anything? Anything was better than nothing.

“Alright, then,” Peggy said with a grin, and all of Steve’s worries were forgotten in an instant as he stared, stunned.

“What?” He couldn’t believe this was happening. Peggy Carter had agreed to marry him. Steve thought he might cry.

“I’ll marry you,” She repeated, her smile mirroring his own. “On one condition,” She could have asked for the moon and he’d have brought it to hearth for her, but her request was much easier. “You kiss me like that one more time, and then again when we’re old and grey haired,”

“Done,” Steve agreed. He was, in fact, crying when he leaned in to kiss her once more. He put his all into that kiss, hoping against hope that a fraction of his heart might be felt through it, and Peggy met him at every step, readily responding to everything he gave. Out of breath again, they pulled apart, and she thought his smile alone could break a thousand girls hearts. Her thoughts were interrupted as he began to pepper kisses across her face, not even trying to suppress his joy as she giggled with him. Then he was kissing down her neck, beneath her ear, every inch of skin exposed to him in fact, and laughter turned to short, light breaths as Peggy tried in earnest not to moan.

Steve, for his part, was just relieved that he appeared to be doing the right thing. He’d never kissed her like that before, never anywhere but her mouth and her cheek, and was mapping new territory as he went, registering her responses to his ministrations just as much as he was savouring the taste of her skin. Peggy had kissed him like that, once, nibbling hard enough to leave an impressive mark where his neck met his shoulder, and he had fought hard not to embarrass himself when she did it. A battle he would have to repeat, it seemed, as she pressed her mouth to his again and her fingers stroked lower, finding the hem of his shirt and running cold fingertips across his waist. Steve felt her shudder, leaning further into his mouth, when her hands spread out across the hard planes of his stomach and abdomen. A hot flush came over him when she pressed against him, and although he knew he should try to move away, there was no doubt that she could feel his strong reaction to her against her stomach, Steve found he didn’t want to. A feral part of him enjoyed the fact that she enjoyed it, and she was moving against him in a way that caused him to move his hand to behind her head, kissing her harder.

Eventually Peggy pulled away from the kiss, mouthing against his skin as she moved her lips to his hear. “Take me to bed,” She breathed, only slightly dizzy. Whatever Steve had been expecting her to say in such a frazzled state, that certainly wasn’t it. He noticeably balked at her request, stiffening under her touch.

“Peggy I-” He said, pulling away from her. His arms still encircled her waist, and he could have easily removed herself from her own hold on his shoulders, but even then he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Peggy took it as a sign that he was not wholly opposed to the idea.

“Did you not just ask me to marry you?” She asked. When she looked into his eyes she saw that they were dark, far darker than she’d ever seen them, despite how he blushed, and the knowledge sent a thrill through her. The warmth of his hands seemed to radiate through her then, bringing her body alive with thunderous fireworks across her skin. He wanted her. The look on his face made Peggy think that he’d throw her across the kitchen table and have her right there and then if he had the confidence for it. _Later_ , she promised herself, _we have our whole lives left_.

“Uh, I did,” Steve said, cautiously avoiding looking at her lips. The restraint it took him to not draw her closer and resume where they had left off was wearing thin, but he knew if he kissed her again he’d never stop. The more he thought about the more pleasant it sounded, he’d kiss her - and more - for the rest of his life so long as she still wanted him.

“Well, what is it, exactly, that you think husbands and wives do?” Peggy asked, a sly look appearing on her face. She certainly wanted him to do more than kiss her then. Steve unconsciously closed his eyes as her fingers came to play with his collar.

“We’re not married yet, Peg!” He laughed at last, not knowing what else to say. 

“I want you,” She said, and he could feel the burn of her mouth moving against his skin as she spoke. “Steve, I’ve wanted you for so long,” He couldn’t say that wasn’t true of him as well, they both knew it. Peggy had caught him looking at her often enough. “It’s okay, if you don’t want to,” She suddenly said, stepping away from him as the thought occurred to her. “I understand, Steve,” If they… Well, Peggy was very aware that it would be his first time. He was inexperienced with everything, though wonderfully eager to learn and please, and it was clear that his ‘right partner’ motto had carried through.

“No, I, I want this,” Steve had very few things he was certain of following the war and his miraculous return to life, but he knew that one of them was that he wanted to spend the rest of his life worshipping her.

“Well then,” Peggy grinned, and the flash in her eyes told him that the atmosphere had definitely changed. Slowly she backed away, and Steve followed, spell bound. What follows is a flurry of movement, and the next thing he knows they’ve bounded up the stairs and practically raced down the hall, and a breathless Peggy is pinning him to her bedroom door.

Steve didn't think he’d ever truly lived before, not until he’d felt her mouth on his chest, kissing and licking the skin she revealed as she hastily unbuttoned his shirt. And he’s cradling her head against him, pulling her closer, God help him. As for Peggy, a minute into her ministrations she comes to the conclusion that she’d spend the rest of her days mouthing at muscled abdomen. It became clear that there was another sort of pent up energy between them, and it was glorious in it’s furore. They may have been emotionally distant, even passive aggressive at points, but not for a second in the last two weeks had either stopped being attracted to the other. Peggy had found it incredibly inconvenient, wanting to be angry at him and at the same time appreciating his arse as he performed some mundane task, but when she had him in her arms all of that was forgotten. She could really appreciate him now.

With that thought in mind, Peggy linked her fingers with his and slid away, pulling him towards the bed. She took a moment too long to appraise his appearance, throughly loved, with the only missing piece being the brilliant smudges of her red lipstick she had removed hours before. Next time, perhaps. Just as the back of her legs hit the bed behind her, Steve leaned in again and she moaned into his mouth involuntarily. In response, Peggy was shocked to feel him grind against her, and her mind swam in the arousal it evoked in her as she pulled him down onto the bed and on top of her.

They undressed each other slowly, relishing in the experience of new discovery. Steve, with his super solider cells and regenerative abilities is the image of perfection, the unblemished skin beneath Peggy’s exploring fingertips taut with muscle. Smooth as marble, not unlike the images of the Greek gods she’d see in art museums. In contrast, she is human, and her skin is littered with scars and stretch marks, a patchwork of her life alternating between muscle and flesh. Inevitably, she finds herself telling him the story between each and every one of her war wounds, and he rewards her with kisses. He kisses the scar from a knife wound she received on the Russian front during a reconnaissance mission, the remnants of a confrontation with Vichy militia in her days with the French Resistance, and the bullet wounds that had formed a vague constellation on her body. She came out of the European theatre with a bullet wound on her shoulder, a badge earned while storming Hydra bases in the wake of the battle of the Valkyrie, and an older scar on her thigh from a nasty graze wound courtesy of a sniper from the Soviet front. Dottie’s botched attempt at her execution was a mere, if recent, addition.

“You’ve been everywhere, haven’t you?” Steve said at last, eyes roaming across her near naked body. He himself was divested of everything save his underwear, something Peggy was determined to change.

“Well I did get this one in Queens, so it’s not all exotic,” Peggy laughed, sitting up for another kiss. “I don’t want to think about them, anymore,” She murmured against his lips. “I just want to think of you,” She had dreamed about this moment for so long, she wouldn’t let old memories taint it - even if they did need to be cautious with her most recent wound.

Steve was all too eager to acquiesce to her request. He was every inch the blushing virgin she had expected, and their first time was soft and gentle, and heartbreakingly lovely. The second was more vigorous, and by the third round Steve had learnt, to Peggy’s delight, how to thoroughly ravish her.

* * *

“I wonder if this would have been different,” Peggy said at last, her voice as languid as her movements. “If we hadn’t lost you so long,” They were both covered in a faint sheen of sweat, positively glowing, and Steve was beginning to truly enjoy the floating sensation that accompanied a particularly exhausting session of lovemaking. It seemed almost cruel, to break the air of perfectly sated contentment they had found by mentioning the world outside. 

“I don’t think so,” Steve grinned, raising himself on an elbow and rolling over to face her. As she looked up at him, Peggy was reminded once again of how handsome he was. She could have written pages on his perfectly structured cheekbones, spent years marvelling at the cut of his jaw, accented by the slight shadow of facial hair that had grown overnight. Peggy ran her fingertips across it, and couldn’t help but share his smile. The early morning light had created an angelic halo about his light hair, and if his smile had not been enough to make her heart glow the blue in his eyes, filled with an adoration that took her breath at way, was. A positive angle, she was sure of that.

“How can you be sure?” She laughed. He had not even paused to consider his reply. 

“Because I would have asked you to marry me the second the war was over,” He was the one lovingly caressing her face then, and Peggy was so distracted she didn’t process his words for another five seconds.

“Steve,” She said, a clear tone of disbelief in her voice.

“And you would have said yes, Peg, I know it,” The conviction he spoke with was obvious, eyes staring into her own and right into her soul. Peggy did not doubt it for a moment. He was right. Even if they’d never so much as kissed, even before he’d told her he loved her, she would have said yes, because he didn’t need to tell her what she already knew. And in kind, her devotion to him had been almost instantaneous, she would have done anything he asked of her. 

“Would you have kissed me?” In the few daydreams she’d allowed herself she had imagined him kissing her when the war was finally over, the surge of joy and relief bolstering his courage for one brief and beautiful instant. Even then, with him in her bed recovering from their love making, Peggy felt a pang of envy for the version of herself that might have enjoyed such a simple pleasure that she had been robbed of. 

“Uh, yeah, yeah I would have kissed you,” His throat bobbed as he swallowed and blush bloomed on his cheekbones at the thought.

“We’ve done more than kiss, Steve, I think you can stop being so coy,” She laughed, amused. He didn’t share her laugh, and when he spoke he was both serious and earnest in his words.

“I would have kissed you, Peggy, the moment I found out. I’d have found you and kissed you wherever you were, in front of everybody,” Maybe he’d thought about it too. One of the mens’ favourite games was to talk about what they’d do after the war. Steve had always answered that he’d go back to Brooklyn, find a new life and hopefully, God willing, one day start a family. That was the truth of it, those were always his intentions, but he would be the last to admit his immediate hopes had been pinned on kissing his Agent Carter.

Tears stung Peggy’s eyes when she threw her arms around him, and their kiss was desperate and hungry. Definitely, inarguably, the right partner. It was many hours until either of them even entertained the idea of getting out of bed. 

* * *

When Steve returned from fetching a morning cup of tea for Peggy, as well as a few small snacks for breakfast, he had a rather embarrassed look on his face. 

“Forget scandalising pigeons,” He said, carefully crawling under the covers so as not to spill the hot beverage. “We’ve scandalised Dum Dum,”

“I didn’t think he could be scandalised,”

“Neither did I, but here we are,” He’d had a brief run in with the gruff elder man in the kitchen, who had made a point not to make eye contact. Steve hadn’t thought the interaction could have gotten more awkward, until Dugan had pointedly reminded him that the walls were very thin.

“I’m such a bad influence on you, what ever will he think?” Peggy teased, uncaring.

It’s about time, was Dugan’s actual thought on the matter, but they didn’t need to know that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd really appreciate to know what you think! Comments mean the world to me :)


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1956, ten years after Steve's pulled out of the ice, he's living his dream.

_Ten years later..._

Steve had only ever dreamed of a life like the one he had now. At 18 years old, he had been barely scraping by, permanently unemployed, orphaned, living in squalor and endured the occasional close scrape with death due to the innumerable diseases he had suffered from. 20 years later, everything in his life was completely changed. He was married, with three beautiful children and living in a brownstone in one of the areas Bucky and him only ever ventured into if they had clean clothes. He was working at home, making money from art commissions and even selling some of his own work, raising his children while his wonderful wife created her own intelligence and security agency from  the ground up. And the world, thankfully, seemed to have forgotten a little about Captain America. 

After Steve and Peggy had notified the S.S.R of their engagement and impeding marriage, the story had leaked of Captain America’s sweetheart and their future nuptials. Both of them had been hounded by not only journalists and other members of the press, but also by the public themselves, who felt that they were entitled to know all about a public figure’s personal life. But it had died down, as it often did, and the pair were able to have a quiet church service wedding, at Steve’s request, with only their closest friends present. Three years later, they moved into the brownstone, living in the lower level and buying the upper to rent. Children went unspoken of, due to the nature of Pegg’s job as she soared through the ranks of the S.S.R despite her colleagues, but Steve couldn’t help but hope that perhaps the extra space might be used by the family that had not yet arrived. And then, four years into their marriage, Peggy told him she was pregnant. 

September, 1950, they had been lying in bed together, slowly falling asleep, when Peggy had turned to him and said three simple words that had turned his entire life upside down - in the best possible way.

“Steve, I’m pregnant,”

“What?” He’d said, and Peggy had almost laughed at how adorable his wide eyed expression was.

“I’m pregnant,”

“I thought you said you didn’t want-” They had one conversation on children, which had lead them to silently agree to never discuss it. Peggy had known he desperately wanted kids, but the idea of a baby had terrified her more than anything, and paired with her job it was just illogical. But when she had found out, she was happier than she could have ever thought possible. 

“Steve, we’re going to have a baby,”

Steve had shamelessly cried tears of joy then, and again when he first held his son in his arms. They’d named him after Peggy’s brother, who she lost on the frontline in the second war, and Steve’s father, who he lost in the trenches before he was born, Michael Joseph Rogers. At six years old, he looked the spitting image of his father, a blonde hair and blue eyed angel that idolised both his parents. It was only a few months after he was born that Peggy was pregnant again, this time with a perfect baby girl, Sarah Angela Rogers. Things had progressed rapidly after that.

He’d left the S.S.R before it had folded in on itself, just after Michael was born. He pursued his art career while working at home, Peggy started working again and her and Howard had founded S.H.I.E.L.D. It had made sense, with kids they needed to have someone out of the line of fire, in case of the worst, and while Peggy loved her children she couldn’t leave the life she’d built as readily as Steve could.

“You’re more durable, anyway,” Peggy had joked one day, and Steve had agreed willingly. He loved it, the life he’d come to live. He felt fulfilled for the first time in a long time, like he was doing exactly what he was meant to do (strange, considering how he was literally genetically altered to do the exact opposite).

That was how Steve came to be doing the dishes, staring out the window and listening to the quiet sounds of the kids playing upstairs. If he focused enough, he could even detect the slight breathing and heartbeat of the newest addition to the family, asleep in his crib. James Henry Rogers had been born in March earlier that year, and they had both agreed instantly on the name. Their first child was named after the brother Peggy had lost and the father Steve had lost, and it worked in the reverse as well, making it a fitting tribute. The baby boy looked to be turning out just like Peggy as well, with her dark colouring and steady demeanour, in contrast to both Michael and Sarah.

Steve was listening so intently to the small noises his son was making in sleep, incredibly grateful for the increased hearing abilities he had onto of everything else, that he failed to hear his wife closing the front door behind her. He’d been so worried about his health problems being passed on to their children, even though all the signs indicated that the issues had stemmed from poverty and malnutrition, and was so relieved when each baby proved strong and healthy.

“Hey,” A quiet voice said from behind him, and Steve turned suddenly, taken aback by the presence of a previously undetected noise. Though always aware of his environment, the super soldier had finally learnt to block out external noise when living with three small children as a survival mechanism. Peggy, standing in the door way, seemed surprised too, most likely in response to his own shock. She looked just as gorgeous and serene as the day they met, and Steve knew he had grown to love her even more each day in between.

“Hey,” He said quietly, frowning a little in confusion. She’d apologised profusely the week, day and night before about not being able to spend the weekend with him and the kids, the demands of running an international intelligence agency outweighing family time.

“I got in early enough to finish before my meeting with Howard,” She said, crossing the kitchen floor to step into his waiting arms. Steve distinctly remembered her crawling out of bed at six in the morning, after he’d basically trapped her in an embrace in an effort to make her stay while she laughed and insisted she needed to go to work. “So, you have all of tomorrow with me, my darling,” Ten years married and he’d never grow tired of hearing her call him her darling.

“I love you, Peggy,” She only sighed in answer. He had learnt a long time ago that ‘my darling’ meant ‘I love you’ and so much more.

“It’s too quiet for five o’clock,” Peggy said at last, suspicious of the silence they had previously been basking in.

“James is down for a nap, the other two are playing very quietly so as not to wake him and dinner will be ready in half an hour,” Steve guessed that was why he was thinking so much about Bucky lately, they’d named their newest child after him.

“They seem to be settling alright,” Peggy noted. She’d been nervous about how they would respond to James. A baby in the house had been an adjustment for the children, seeing as how closely together Michael and Sarah had been born, but Steve was glad that they seemed to be getting by easily enough. Steve nodded in answer.

“Speaking of which,” He grinned into her neck, hearing the familiar sounds of little feet running down the hall and down the stairs. “They must have heard your voice,” Only a few parts of his serum enhancements had been passed down to the kids, but a little bit of his hearing and vision had, as well as his increased healing abilities (something that had come in handy with all the reckless stunts the older ones had pulled). Peggy pulled away, her crimson lips in a smile despite the tension Steve had sensed in her. They'd discuss it later.

“Mummy!” An excited voice called, and Peggy swept the little blonde girl up into her arms without a moments pause.

“Hello, my darlings,” She said, effortlessly reaching out her other arm to pull her son into a hug. “How was your day?”

“Fun!” Sarah said, grinning so that Peggy could see all the gaps in her teeth where little pearly whites had fallen out and been given to the tooth fairy. “We went for a walk, and then we played hide and seek and then we sat with Jamie and then Michael and I played with my teddy bears and-”

“We played hide and seek again, but without Dad, and I won!” Michael interjected, looking up proudly at her. “And when we were out on the walk I raced Dad and I won that, too!”

“He sure did,” Steve said, wrapping an arm around his little family. Peggy only smiled knowingly.

“Okay, darlings, why don’t you go upstairs, I’ll come see you in a minute, mmmhh?” She said, setting Sarah down with a kiss.

Steve knew what that meant. Peggy often needed a few minutes or so in the house before she saw the kids. She didn’t like bringing her work life home, especially not to her children. When she saw them, she wanted to be their mother, not the director of S.H.I.E.L.D with all the obligations and dangers the position presented. In conclusion, something had come up at work - something heavy. He could almost see the weight of it in how tense her shoulders were.

He waited until he could hear the kids talking upstairs, bubbly laughter echoing down the hall, until he asked.

“What happened?” There was an extended pause, and Steve tightened his old on her. “Or aren’t you allowed to tell me?” After he left the S.S.R, and then even more so once S.H.I.E.L.D was founded, the list of the things Peggy could not discuss with him had grown exponentially.

“I’m not sure if I can,” She replied honestly. “But, it might be relevant, in the future,” They rarely talked about, but there was always the distant murmur of the day that Steve might return to the life he’d left behind. There would come a time when the world would need Captain America to pick up his shield once more.

“Tell me,” Peggy buried her face into his chest, breathing in the familiar, reassuring smell of him. Ten years, and she’d never fail to find comfort in her husbands strong arms.

“There’s an assassin, or maybe there isn’t. We don’t know. The intelligence community has been whispering about him. There’ve been a number of instances that have gone unexplained, we can’t even begin to trace him - if he even exists. If he does, he’s Soviet, which is probably why we can’t trace him. If we could, I don’t think I’d want to. There are high profile instances,” The thought itself was overwhelmingly terrifying. The world was on the perpetual brink of war, and tensions were rising every day with each new instance. The Cold War, they’d started to call it. It was dangerous to make accusations in such a climate, factual or not. “Hits on several prominent American and British diplomats, done by a specially trained assassin. We’ve never seen anything like it. He’s… unstoppable, like a ghost. We’ve barely caught sight of him, we have no idea who or what he is,”

Steve tightened his hold on his wife, his hand unconsciously moving to rub soothing circles down her back. The tone in her voice worried him more than anything, she was frightened. Peggy was never frightened. 

“We know practically nothing, Steve, everyone’s scared. We think, maybe, he could be… He could be super soldier,” Oh God… “They’re calling him Зимний Солдат,”

“Zimiy Soldat?” He repeated, a frown on his face. Steve had discovered that while he was able to pick French up relatively well, and enough German to survive, Russian pronunciation would forever elude him.

“Zimniy Soldát,” Peggy corrected, “The Winter Soldier,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a rap!!!!!!!! My final chapter for A Good Man, which I think I'm going to maybe rename if you guys think that's best? I don't know! Please let me know what you guys think, and thank you so much for your support and comments.
> 
> xxxx


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